


Journey to the Past

by NightValeian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amnesia, Anastasia (1997 & Broadway) References, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Language of Flowers, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death (Mentioned Not Shown), Peril, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Temporary Amnesia, with art!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightValeian/pseuds/NightValeian
Summary: Anthony Crowley is searching for the lost heir to the throne of Eden, Prince Aziraphale.Enter Ezra, a young man with no memory of who he is or where he comes from, but bears a strong resemblance to the missing prince.~~~~A Good Omens/Anastasia AU
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 90
Collections: Good Omens Fantasy & Fairy Tales





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaack~
> 
> Thank you so so much to [elxetera ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera) for beta-reading this for me, Miss_Kathryn for letting me roll this idea around with her for a while, and an extra bunch of thanks to [teslatherat ](https://teslatherat.tumblr.com/)for the gorgeous fanart drawn for this chapter <3333

_“Once upon a time, there was a little prince, and he was sorrowful. He had awoken and found himself far from home and had no way to return there.”_

_“But then he made a friend, didn’t he, grandmother?”_

_“Yes, he did, my darling. He certainly did.”_

* * *

When Anthony Crowley turned ten years old, his father asked him if he would like to see the palace gardens. It had always been Anthony’s dream to see the gardens where his father worked, see the beautiful plants and flowers his father grew on behalf of the royal family, and he had ended up tripping over himself in his haste to get dressed that day. 

Anthony’s father had been the head gardener for the royal family long before Anthony had even been born and starting at a very young age, his father had begun to teach him everything that he knew about taking care of the flowers.

“I know you’re excited, but stay put until I get back,” His father instructed as they walked through the gates to the gardens and came to a stop just before the entrance to the palace. “I have to go inside for a moment.”

“Can’t I go with you?” 

“It’s only for a moment. When I return, I’ll show you around.” 

But Anthony was a curious child, a child full of wonder and countless questions, so when his father left him amongst the flourishing greenery of the gardens, it wasn’t long before he wandered off and lost himself in the beauty of it all. He touched his fingertips to the leaves of plants he had never seen, smelled the aroma of flowers he had only heard his father describe in stories, and the farther he wandered, the more he discovered. 

As Anthony explored the different areas of the garden, every nook and cranny as well as every flower and plant, he noticed a figure not too far off in the distance, walking the same path he was on. At a faraway glance, Anthony feared they were a grown-up, ready to catch him and scold him for wandering when his father had already warned him not to. But the closer the figure walked, the sooner Anthony realized that they weren’t a grown-up at all. They were a child, just like him, and upon closer inspection, they seemed to be a boy. 

Anthony didn’t have many friends at home. Most of the children who lived nearby were all much older than he was and it was harder to find common ground with them. But _this_ boy looked very close to Anthony’s age. 

“Ah, hello!” Anthony called out, lifting a hand to wave in what he hoped looked like a friendly enough wave, but his greeting seemed to only startle the other boy. He dropped the book he’d been reading and dashed behind the nearby hedge to hide from view. Anthony dropped his hand in defeat, feeling a swirl of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t even make friends properly. 

Anthony continued on his way down the path, only stopping once he stood in front of the abandoned book on the ground. He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, heard a slight rustling of leaves, and turned his head just as a shadow disappeared to the other side of the hedge. 

“You’re not a guard.” A voice spoke out suddenly from behind the hedge and Anthony spun around completely to fix his gaze on the hedge. The boy’s voice was soft and he didn’t seem to be accusing him of anything but spoke more out of curiosity. “You looked taller when you were further away.”

“So did you,” Anthony offered carefully because he wasn’t sure if he _was_ being accused of something or not. _He_ wasn’t supposed to be wandering the gardens alone, but he was suddenly unsure if the other boy was allowed to be here either. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“If you’re not a guard, then who are you?” The boy asked curiously and Crowley caught a glimpse of blonde hair as he peeked around the hedge. “I’ve never seen you before.” 

“My name is Anthony.” 

“Anthony?” 

“Yes. My father is the gardener here.” 

“Oh.” The boy falls silent for a moment, seeming to consider this information. It was possible his father had never talked about having a child while on the palace grounds, at least not to this boy, so it would come as a surprise. “Your father is very kind.”

“Thank you,” Anthony said. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so instead, he stooped down to scoop up the abandoned book from the path. He gave the book a once over, looking for any damage, before he gently brushed off a bit of dirt from the cover and extended his arm, holding it out for the boy to take. “You dropped your book.” 

He heard the boy giggle softly and watched as he came out from behind his hiding place behind the hedge. The other boy did have golden hair, curls, ones that adorned his head like a halo of light. When he stepped closer, Anthony also noticed that his eyes were the most vibrant blue he had ever seen. He was dressed far nicer than Anthony was, in creams and whites, but his smile was kind and even a bit shy. 

The other boy walked closer until he was within arm’s reach, and he took the book from Anthony’s hand, before hugging it close to his chest, his smile growing wider. “Thank you, Anthony.” 

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at him in return. “So, ah, d-does your father work at the palace, too? Or your mother?” he asked. 

The boy’s expression shifted into something more amused as if Anthony had told a particularly funny joke. “I suppose you could say they work here, yes.” he replied. 

“What do they do here? Something to do with the gardens?” Anthony asked next because he was so _curious_. He wanted to know everything about this mysterious boy, every detail he could manage. He gestured to the book in his arms. “Or books, perhaps?”

“Oh, nothing so exciting,” the boy answered with a laugh. 

“Is it cleaning? I don’t find cleaning very exciting,” Anthony admitted. This seemed to tickle the other boy even further, and his laugh became louder in the silence of the garden. “Did I say something?” 

“Not at all,” the boy told him as his laughter died down, but the mirth still danced about in his eyes, as if he were holding onto some kind of secret. “I’ve never had someone to talk to that was my age before. It’s nice, I think.” 

“It is nice.” Anthony couldn’t help but agree. It was not only easier to talk to someone around his age, but they already seemed to be getting along so well that he felt they would soon become friends. It was then that the thought struck him: he didn’t even know this boy’s name! 

“I think if we’re going to talk more, I should at least know what your name is.” 

The boy blinked in surprise before his joyful smile shifted into an embarrassed grimace. “Oh, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. How silly,” he said with a sigh, then shook his head, his smile growing wide once more. “My name is--” 

_“AZIRAPHALE?”_

The boy jumped in alarm, nearly sending the book flying from his arms once more. He arched up on his toes, scanning above the hedges before ducking back down again. “Oh, drat. They’ve found me.” 

“They?” Anthony repeated in confusion, arching up to look as well, only to be dragged back down by the boy’s sudden grip on his sleeve. “Found you?” 

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid so,” the boy groaned. “I only wanted to walk the gardens. I was hoping no one would notice.” 

_“AZIRAPHALE!”_

Anthony was still confused but kept low to the ground as the other boy was doing because it seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t know much of the royal family, but he at least knew all of their names and he knew that Aziraphale was the name of the youngest prince who resided at the palace. “I don’t understand. Why would they be looking for you? They’re looking for the _prince,_ not--” 

The boy gave him a look, slowly raising an eyebrow, and it was that look that made everything click into place for Anthony. The fancy clothes, the proper speech, the familiarity with the royal gardens...

_Oh._

“I suppose I’ve been found out,” the boy, no, _prince_ , said with a sheepish smile. “Terribly sorry you had to find out this way. I _did_ plan on telling you.” 

“No. You’re not--you can’t be--what?” Anthony stammered, knowing he looked like an absolute fool, mouth hanging open in shock. “You’re the _prince._ ”

“I hope that it doesn’t cause you to hold me in a different light,” Aziraphale continued as if Anthony hadn’t spoken at all. His voice had taken on a more hushed tone, intending to keep them undetected for as long as they could be. “It would be nice to have a friend.”

“A friend?” Anthony echoed in disbelief. “You? With _me?”_

“I would like that very much,” he confirmed, pausing as the sound of footsteps hurried past the hedge they had ducked behind and another call of the prince’s name rang out through the garden. "I have to go, but...I will see you again?” 

Anthony stared at the boy in absolute wonder and wondered if he were having some kind of very vivid dream. The youngest prince of Eden was extending a hand of friendship to _him_ , a gardener’s son, a nobody. It must be some kind of trick. Upon closer examination of Aziraphale’s face, however, he noticed the hopeful smile was also hiding a wariness, a fear of being rejected, and Anthony realized that perhaps this young prince might have been just as young and alone as he was. 

“I can ask my father if I can come with him tomorrow?” Anthony suggested and watched as Aziraphale’s smile spread wider across his face, obviously thrilled with the idea.

“Tomorrow. Under the apple tree at the garden center. When the sun is at its highest.” Aziraphale told him, pointing off into the indicated direction. “I’ll meet you there?”

“I’ll bring lunch!” 

“Wonderful! Oh, Anthony, I--”

_“AZIRAPHALE!”_

“I’m _coming!_ ” Aziraphale called back, standing up with a huff. It was so odd to see the look of absolute annoyance on his face and Anthony had to fight off a giggle off his own. “Goodbye, Anthony!” 

“Goodbye,” Anthony replied and watched as the prince hurried out from their hiding place to reveal himself to the people who had been calling for him. He waited patiently for the voices and footsteps to fade off into the distance before he stood to start his trek back to where his father had originally left him. 

“Where have you been?” Anthony’s father asked when he’d finally made his way back. “I told you not to wander off.”

“I’m sorry, father,” Anthony said, but he wasn’t very sorry at all. He couldn’t feel sorry in the slightest after the experience he’d just had. “But I think I’ve made a friend today.”

* * *

The years ticked on and the unlikely friendship between Aziraphale and Anthony continued to grow. Every afternoon, after Anthony had done some work and Aziraphale had attended his lessons, they would meet for lunch in the gardens under the apple tree as they had since the beginning. Anthony would bring lunch, enough for the two of them to share, and Aziraphale would bring a book to read aloud once they’d caught up on conversation. 

If it seemed odd to the royal family that the youngest prince had befriended a gardener’s son, no one mentioned it. They were happy that the youngest member of the family had made a friend that brought him such joy, and while there were moments they did occasionally get into trouble together, it was only as much trouble as two children could get into. 

As they grew from children into young adults, their friendship became what would come to be described as an unbreakable bond. They confided in one another about every trouble, every little thought, and spoke of dreams that they wished would carry them far away from the lives they led. 

“Just grow _better_ , you useless little bud!” Anthony hissed at the plant. At fourteen years of age, Anthony had become something of an apprentice under his father, learning his methods and techniques so that when his father finally decided to retire, his son would be able to take over on his behalf. He had heard recently that talking to one’s plants helped them grow and Anthony had been eager to put his own spin on the practice. 

“You _do_ realize that shouting at your plants doesn’t make them grow, don’t you?” 

Anthony turned around to look at Aziraphale, who was seated on a stone bench under a nearby tree, a book open in his lap. As they’d gotten older, Anthony had to work more often, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale from joining him in the mid-afternoon like normal. If Anthony was unable to be pulled away from his work, Aziraphale would occupy himself with a book and occasionally indulge him in conversation. 

“Oi, who’s the palace gardener here?” 

“Your father.” 

“This is slander,” Anthony said, wagging his finger at him and Aziraphale laughed, lifting his book to hide his smile. “My best friend is questioning my gardening methods.” 

“It’s not a question. It’s merely an observation.” Aziraphale pointed out teasingly. 

“If you’re so busy observing, observe _these._ You won’t see any other flowers in Eden performing like this.” 

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Aziraphale agreed. “But I don’t think shouting at them is the reason behind it.” 

“Turning against me in my own garden,” Anthony grumbled, shaking his head, before returning to his work of pruning the flowers. He picked off the wilted leaves and flower buds, dropping them into the bucket he had nearby, and murmured a word of warning to the wilting blossom for it to start turning around if it knew what was good with it. “The ultimate betrayal.”

“Oh, honestly. You’ll be fine,” Aziraphale said with another laugh. Anthony turned around to face him, unable to resist a smile at the sight of his friend’s amusement, his earlier teasing forgotten. It was hard to be mad at Aziraphale for very long, especially when he was the target of that smile. He was still unable to believe they had been friends for so long. Aziraphale had somehow never gotten tired of his company and Anthony would certainly never tire of Aziraphale. “They’ll look perfectly fine for the celebration tomorrow. They always do.” 

The royal family was hosting a grand ball the following night, celebrating the family’s three-hundred-year long rule. Anthony’s father, as lead gardener, wanted the garden to look perfectly put together and had asked Anthony to comb through the major areas of the garden for any lingering imperfections. 

There weren’t many, but Anthony was very good at his job. 

“I’m not worried about them. I know they’ll get it together in time,” Anthony said with a shrug, moving along to another batch of flowers; peonies, blooming brilliantly in white. “I’ve heard your grandmother is coming to visit, all the way from London. Been a while since she’s been here.” 

“Not since my birthday, yes,” Aziraphale told him, a twinge of excitement in his tone. Aziraphale was very close to his grandmother and whenever she came to visit, Aziraphale was absolutely over the moon. Agnes had gotten Aziraphale interested in books at a very young age, instilling him with an undying love of the written word, and during her visits, they spent most of their time talking about their latest finds. “Father says she may be able to stay with us for a bit longer this time.” 

“That’s good news,” Anthony said honestly, having taken interest in one of the plants that were showing signs of rot in the roots. He would have to have someone dig up the entire plant before the ball, but they had plenty of time to do so. “I volunteered to work in the kitchens for the night, so I’m sure to see you.” 

“Oh, how lovely. Perhaps we’ll be able to enjoy one another’s company at some point,” Aziraphale said hopefully. Being the youngest child of the royal family, celebrations like these tended to be lost on Aziraphale. He was a bit shy, withdrawn, and he certainly didn’t enjoy dancing. “It would be nice to see a familiar face.” 

“Of course it will,” Anthony replied with ease. “Maybe I can finally encourage you to dance amongst the royals.” 

“I have two left feet, my dear. You know that would simply end in disaster.” 

“Do I know that?” Anthony mused, trimming the stem of a particularly beautiful peony and studying it for minor imperfections. “I know you’ve never tried.” 

“Oh, _honestly--”_

“Come now, your highness,” Anthony said, turning back towards his friend and crossing the distance between them. He extended the freshly trimmed peony towards him and Aziraphale’s annoyed expression softened, his cheeks going pink. “You’ve just entered your fourteenth year. It’s time to live a bit, don’t you think?” 

“There are many rules to follow as a prince,” Aziraphale reminded him, reaching out to take the flower from him and bringing it close to his nose so he could take a sniff. “I don’t believe ‘living a little’ is one of them.” 

“For Gabriel, maybe, but not for you,” Anthony scoffed and Aziraphale rolled his eyes, settling for tucking the flower behind his ear as he usually did with the flowers he was given. Anthony knew that at the end of the day, Aziraphale would press them into books to keep them forever, insisting that any flower from his best friend was something to treasure. “It’s a good color for you. All that white.” 

“What does it mean? The peony?” 

“They say it means nobility, which you are,” Anthony told him. His mother and father had taught him long ago about the language of the flowers, what each one meant in different situations. The color or type of flower always changed the meaning so Anthony had always made sure to be very careful when gifting flowers to his friend. “Suits you. It’ll look good with your little collection.” 

“You always know how to make me feel better, sweet Anthony. You and your flowers,” Aziraphale said with a fond sounding sigh and Anthony cleared his throat, hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Thank you.” 

“I know you’re worried about the ball, but it _will_ be alright,” Anthony said reassuringly. “I’ll be there, your grandmother will be there. What could go wrong?” 

* * *

  
  


_“What is this? A new book?”_

_“I suppose you will have to open it and find out.”_

_“There...appears to be a lock on it, grandmother.”_

_“Locked to all but to those who have the key.”_

_“A key?”_

_“The ring I gave you. When you hold this ring, you hold the key.”_

_“Oh...Oh! It’s our story! You made it into a book!”_

_“That I did. So that when I’m in London, you will have a piece of me here with you.”_

* * *

_“Lucifer, how dare you return here.”_

_“Ah, but my king, I am your confidant--”_

_“You are nothing more than a traitor. Get. Out.”_

_“You think that you can banish me? You have no idea who you speak to nor the powers that I possess!”_

_“I place upon you a curse! Mark my words, you and your family will all die within a fortnight! I will not rest until I see the end of the entire Arch bloodline!”_

* * *

In the aftermath of Lucifer’s warning, the party had come to an abrupt end. Aziraphale’s father had instructed many of his knights to search far and wide for the sorcerer who had threatened his family so that once found, he would be put to death for his crimes. It was chaos, the way every adult was scrambling to make sense of what they had heard and seen.

Aziraphale had barely moved an inch since Lucifer had disappeared into the night, frozen near the throne and staring blankly ahead while his family conversed about their concerns of what to do next.

It was where Anthony found him when he finally managed to escape the kitchens and his father’s questions. 

“Aziraphale?” he called out hesitantly, stepping closer, but his friend didn’t respond. His arms had a death hold around a book Anthony had never seen before and his hands were fidgeting frantically with a ring around his finger, twisting it around and around again. Not one adult was watching, too wrapped up in their own distress and confusion, so Anthony walked closer until they were side by side and gently touched his friend’s arm. “Aziraphale.” 

The young prince jumped, obviously having been unaware of his presence until he’d felt his touch, and he turned his gaze towards him, wide eyes blue and teary. “Oh...O-Oh, I…” Aziraphale began, blinking rapidly and trying to smile, but it fell short before it fully formed. “Anthony, I…” 

“I know, I know.” Anthony soothed, tugging at his arm, pulling him away from the chaos and confusion. “Let’s leave the adults to do their talking, yeah? Come on.” 

Aziraphale came willingly, though he seemed in a bit of a daze, following Anthony without really registering where they were going. It wasn’t until they were at the door to his room that he realized anything at all. 

“Alright, go get out of these clothes. Get ready for bed,” Anthony instructed, very carefully taking the book out of Aziraphale’s arms. He let it go willingly, arm falling loosely at his sides, and Anthony smiled encouragingly. “Go on. I’m staying with you tonight.”

“Oh...Y-You don’t have to--” 

“I won’t leave you to deal with this on your own,” Anthony said firmly, waving a hand towards the bathroom. “Go on.” 

Aziraphale shuffled into the bathroom to change and Anthony set the book down onto the bedside table so that it could be easily found again before he began to get ready for bed himself. He washed his face in the basin at the mirror. His hair, which had been pinned up and back neatly for the occasion, was released with the pull of a few pins, tumbling down to his shoulders in red waves. 

When Aziraphale finally exited the bathroom, he looked a bit less peaky. He’d washed his face and changed his clothes, looking more than ready to lay down. Anthony pulled down the covers on Aziraphale’s side of the bed and motioned towards the space. 

“Alright, in with you.” 

“Tucking me in, are you,” Aziraphale asked, a hint of amusement behind his tone as he trudged towards the bed and eventually sank into the mattress. “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m fourteen, you know.” 

“Perhaps you need a bit of coddling,” Anthony told him gently, waiting until he laid back before covering him with the blanket, tucking it in around the edges. Once Aziraphale was tucked in and snug, Anthony moved around to the other side of the bed and climbed under the covers as well, settling in with a heavy sigh. 

The candles that had been lit were low, giving off a dull glow in the darkness that made it seem not so suffocating. They lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe, staring up at the ceiling both of them still processing the night’s events and the ramblings of a madman. 

It was a long time before that silence was broken and Aziraphale finally spoke again.

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quiet, barely higher than a whisper. 

"Who? 

"Lucifer,” Aziraphale said. “Do you think he would try to hurt us?”

"I think he's out of his mind, really," Anthony admitted, rolling onto his side to look at his friend. The light from the dying candle might have been dim, but the worry was clear on Aziraphale’s face, and his fingers twisted the ring that he wore on his finger anxiously. “Full of hot air, that one. Your father and the knights will find him before he does anything.”

Aziraphale hummed softly in agreement, but it was obvious to Anthony that he wasn't fully present. His eyes continued to stare straight up towards the ceiling and his mouth was turned downwards into a frown at the corners. 

"I don't think I've ever been so afraid," Aziraphale whispered. “What did we do to him? Why would he say such horrible things to us?”

Anthony hated seeing his friend in such a state. He knew any reassurance he attempted to make would fall on deaf ears. Aziraphale didn't need comfort, he needed a distraction.

"What've you got there?" he asked instead and Aziraphale blinked, finally turning his eyes from the ceiling to look at his friend in confusion. "That ring. You weren't wearing it before the party."

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, removing it from his finger and holding it out for Anthony to take. He took it gently between two fingers and held it up against the candle's flame, examining the finer details. It looked to be crafted from gold, round with a flat top, and imprinted with the face of a cherub with two wings. Oddly enough, the cherub looked a bit like Aziraphale. "It's from my grandmother." 

"It's beautiful," Anthony told him truthfully, holding the ring out and placing it back into Aziraphale's open palm. "Looks like you, I think." 

"Me?" Aziraphale asked in surprise and then he laughed, his first real laugh since Lucifer's warning earlier that evening. It had always been a nice sound, but the sound of it now easily took the tension from Anthony’s shoulders. "Oh, I'm hardly an angel, Anthony."

"I beg to differ. All blonde curls and big cherub eyes. Wouldn't be surprised if you sprouted wings and took flight" Anthony teased and Aziraphale laughed again in delight. "Didn't think you were one for rings."

"Oh, I'm not, but it's not _just_ a ring," Aziraphale told him. "It's a key."

Anthony looked at the ring in Aziraphale's palm for a long time before he looked back up at Aziraphale, squinting suspiciously. "It doesn't _look_ like a key." 

"Perhaps because it doesn't fit an ordinary lock," Aziraphale said, throwing back the covers and pushing himself into a sitting position, leaning over to his bedside table to pick up the book Anthony had placed there earlier. "Here we are." 

"It's a book." 

"Very perceptive," Aziraphale teased and Anthony felt his face flush with heat. "Come, sit up. I'll show you."

He did as he was told, sitting up in the bed while Aziraphale fussed over lighting a new candle to bring more light into the room. The book was indeed beautifully made, bound in leather, letters glittering in the candlelight like stars. Wrapped around the book seemed to be another type of binding, looking similar to a ribbon, but Anthony knew it was much stronger for in the center of it was an odd-shaped hole in the center.

Once the candle was lit, Aziraphale once again removed the ring from his finger and held it out for Anthony to see once again. “This flat side with the angel? It fits into this little hole here,” he told him, the fingertips of his other hand tracing along the hole in the cover. “Lock and key.” 

“I see,” Anthony said with a nod of his head, though he certainly didn’t understand why a book would _need_ such a thing as a lock. The title of the book was harder to read in the dim light, but maybe it wasn’t so much a _book_ as it was a journal? “Are there secrets inside?” 

“Would you like to see?” 

“You would share your secrets with me?” 

“Of course I would. You’re my dearest friend.” 

“I’m your only friend,” Anthony pointed out which earned him a light-hearted smack to his arm. “Ow, _what?_ You’re my only friend too, you know!” 

“A certain friend is _very_ close to not seeing my secrets,” Aziraphale warned, but there was no real anger there. In fact, Aziraphale's eyes were sparkling with amusement. 

"Fine, fine. I'll behave," Anthony said, crossing over his heart. "I promise. Now, show me your secret book."

Aziraphale hummed, adjusting the hold on the ring so that the flat end was face down. He lowered it closer to the lock until it slid into place, pressing down until they both heard the soft click. He replaced the ring on his finger, pulled the now freed binding off to the side, and then finally opened the cover to reveal the front page. 

"A storybook?" Anthony asked, his eyes glancing over the paper and the neatly written script. 

"Not just _any_ storybook. It's the story my grandmother tells me whenever she comes to visit." Aziraphale pointed out, taking the page gently between his two fingers and flipping it to the next. "She had this made for me, our story, and it has beautiful pictures as well." 

“It is very beautiful,” he agreed. 

“Do you want to read it together?” the prince asked eagerly. “Or I could read it aloud to you?” 

Anthony hesitated. While Aziraphale reading aloud to him had been a favorite pastime of his for years, he was hesitant to indulge in it after the evening they had had. “You’ve had a long night,” he said carefully. “I don’t want you to overwork yourself.” 

“Oh, nonsense. If anything, this would take my mind off the entire situation,” Aziraphale said decisively, snuggling back down under the covers and bringing up his knees so he could prop the book up against them. He looked at Anthony expectantly. “Well? Shall we?” 

Anthony stared at him for a moment, at the space beside his friend and the welcoming smile he wore. The older they became, the harder it was to say no to that smile. 

“Alright,” he said at last. “Read on.”

* * *

Long after they had finished the book and blown out the candles, Anthony lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Aziraphale had long since gone quiet, breathing slow and even as he began to drift off, but Anthony just couldn’t sleep. Left to his thoughts, he began thinking of the threats Lucifer had shouted at the ball that night and how frightened all of the grown-ups had looked once he was gone. 

What if that man _did_ come back to hurt the royal family? Hurt Aziraphale?

Anthony rolled onto his side, looking at his friend. The moon was bright and round, illuminating the room in a soft glow so that he could almost see the features of Aziraphale’s face in the darkness. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, but his breathing indicated that he was still stuck somewhere between awake and asleep. 

He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to him.

“Aziraphale?”

“Mmhm?”

“You know that I would never let anything happen to you, right?” Anthony asked quietly. It felt silly to wake Aziraphale up in the middle of the night, but Anthony simply had to tell him. Did his friend even know the lengths he would go to to protect him from a hint of pain? “If that madman came back, I would protect you.” 

Aziraphale hummed in amusement, a hint of a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you so brave?” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “Far too brave for a simple gardener. Must be a knight.” 

“I mean it.” Anthony insisted. “I would do anything to keep you safe.” 

“I am so blessed, dear Anthony,” Aziraphale sighed sleepily and his hand inched across the bed until he could cover Anthony’s completely with his own, fingers squeezing gently. “To have such a friend like you...is truly the greatest gift I will ever know. I am...so glad I have you.” 

Anthony stared at their hands for a long time in the silence that followed. Aziraphale’s paler skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, a fair contrast to Anthony’s slightly darker tone, and when he turned his hand to link their fingers together, it felt like they were simply meant to fit together.

He never wanted to let go.

“Believe me,” Anthony whispered when at last Aziraphale’s breathing had evened out again and he could no longer hear his words. “I feel the same.”

* * *

It had been fourteen nights since Lucifer had infiltrated the palace, declaring death upon the entire royal family. Fourteen nights since Anthony had reassured his best friend that no harm would come to his family, that they were going to be just fine. 

He’d been wrong. He had been so wrong. 

It was as if it had happened overnight. One day, the people of Eden were happy, content, and the next they were at the gates of the palace, breaking them down. They had torches lit, weapons raised, and they marched upon the palace with a vengeance. 

When Anthony’s father had mentioned the uprising to his mother, both of them concerned for the royal family as much as their own safety, Anthony had taken off without another thought, running to the palace in hopes of finding Aziraphale before it ended up being too late.

The palace was in shambles by the time he reached the front doors, things broken and destroyed, people screaming and shouting in different directions. He could see from one of the great windows that the gardens were _burning._ Anthony tried not to take the time to mourn them and focused instead on where he could find his friend. 

If he were Aziraphale and he was frightened, he would hide in his chambers, but that was well on the other side of the palace and he would be bound to run into someone on his way there. On the few occasions he had assisted in the palace, one of the maids had told him of tunnels inside the walls and how the tunnel system had not only multiple entrances, but multiple exits as well. 

He remembered one of those entrances was in the main hall where he stood and Anthony nearly tripped over his own feet in order to get to the space of wall that would open into the tunnels. He managed to open the panel after a few moments of frantic scrambling and all but flung himself inside, racing down the tunnels in the direction of Aziraphale’s chambers. Even in the enclosed space, he could hear the gunshots, the screaming, the absolute chaos, and it only encouraged him to push forward and not stop for even a moment as his feet carried him to a new door.

He pressed his ear to the wall for a moment, listening for any signs of danger on the other side before slowly pushing it open. Anthony peeked his head out, glanced around the room, and was not only relieved to see he had in fact made it to Aziraphale’s room, but he had also found Aziraphale and his grandmother, Agnes. 

“Aziraphale!” he exclaimed in relief, leaving the shelter of the tunnel and fully entering the room. Aziraphale spun around to face him at the sound of his voice, a look of relief replacing the panic that had been there moments before. Anthony wanted to throw his arms around him, relish in the realization that his friend was safe, but they simply didn’t have the time. “You’re alright.” 

“Anthony!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his eyes filled with tears. Despite the events going on, the prince looked completely unharmed if not just shaken. His arms were wound around a book, holding it as close to his chest as he could while also “Oh, Anthony, it’s terrible. There was so much _shouting_ and--”

“You need to get out of here,” Anthony told him quickly, cutting him off. He put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, giving his friend a small shake for emphasis. “Aziraphale, you’re in danger here. You have to go.” 

“But how?” Agnes asked and Anthony could see where the king got his strength. Despite the stress of the situation, the look on her face gave nothing away and her eyes were flickering around the room as if assessing potential escape routes. “There are no exits.” 

Anthony turned away from Aziraphale and pointed back towards the way he came. “There. It’s a tunnel system in the walls. Go straight down and take a right. It will take you to the back of the palace,” he instructed. “You’ll be able to get out that way.” 

“Young man, thank you,” Agnes said, relieved, and took long, quick strides across the room. She turned back to Aziraphale, holding out her hand. “Come quickly, my darling. We have to go.” 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, hurrying after her, but tripped over his own feet in his haste. The book in his arms flew from his hold and skidded across the bedroom floor, disappearing into the shadows underneath a nearby dresser. He stopped and turned in the direction his book disappeared, but he didn’t get a chance to step forward before Anthony was hurrying up behind him, ushering him towards the tunnel. “Anthony, my _book_ \--” 

“Hush, I’ll get it for you, but you have to _go,”_ Anthony urged. The sounds of shouting were only getting closer and they were running out of time. How had they so quickly run out of time? “I’ll find you again, I swear I will, and I’ll give you back your book, but _please_ go.”

Aziraphale’s expression shifted then at that moment, to something Anthony would describe as absolute horror as he realized Anthony would not be joining them during their escape. “No...No, you’re coming with us.” He insisted, his voice pitching up an octave as the fear finally settled in. “A-Aren’t you?”

“I’ll find you,” Anthony repeated firmly, trying to keep his own voice from trembling and he hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t call him out on his lie. It would take a miracle for Anthony to escape the palace alive and they both knew it, but if he saved Aziraphale’s life it would have been worth it. Agnes reappeared behind Aziraphale and reached out to take her grandson’s arm, pulling him away from the door so that Anthony could begin to close it. “I promise.”

“ _Anthony, no--!”_

Anthony forced the door closed, cutting off Aziraphale’s cries of protest, and closed his eyes tightly, his forehead pressed against the wall. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, knowing full well that Aziraphale couldn’t hear him but somehow it made him feel better to apologize out loud. “Be safe.” 

The door to the bedroom burst open and Anthony spun around to face the soldiers who entered. They stood there, weapons raised, madness behind their eyes as they closed in on him and Anthony found himself pressed back flat against the wall, the only thing keeping them from finding the tunnel that the remainder of the royal family had escaped through. 

“Where are they, boy?” 

Anthony said nothing, merely spitting on the floor in their direction. He would rather die than give in to this madness. The royal family had done nothing wrong, _Aziraphale_ had done nothing wrong, and he refused to believe that the people of Eden could think so. 

One of the soldiers snarled at him, disgusted with his refusal to cooperate, and raised the butt of his weapon. Anthony barely had time to react before it connected with the side of his head, sending him to the floor and spiraling into darkness. 

After that, he knew nothing more. 

Art by teslatherat <3 

* * *

_“Keep up with me, darling! Keep up!”_

_“I-I’m trying! I’m trying!”_

_“Aziraphale, grab my hand!”_

_“Grandma, don’t let go!”_

_“I won’t, I won’t! Hurry!”_

_“Ah!”_

_“Aziraphale?!_ Aziraphale, no! **_”_ **

* * *

In a hospital on the other side of the city, long into the night and far from the chaos that was the downfall of the royal family, a boy with no name and a terrible headache, was being talked to by a nurse. He’d recently been brought in from near the train station, having been found lying limp on the cobblestone, and a fresh bruise on his head. 

In the short amount of time he’d been there, he hadn’t said a single word. 

“It’s lucky they found you when they did, love. Head injuries can be so very fickle,” the nurse told him, but the boy said nothing in return, staring down silently at the ring on his finger, twisting it around and around. “Can you tell me what happened? How you got out onto that street in that mess?” 

Still, the boy said nothing. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He could only remember that maybe he’d been looking for someone, but who they were or where they’d gone was lost to him. The ring on his finger glitter in the dim candlelight. It was all he had of who he was, but it told him nothing, gave no clues as to where he’d come from or where his family had gone. The gentle smile of the engraved angel felt almost mocking and the boy felt his lip tremble. 

“Perhaps a name, maybe?” the nurse tried again. “Do you remember your name?” 

The boy paused, seemed to deeply consider the question, and then opened his mouth to reply. “Az...ra,” he said slowly, but it felt wrong. His thoughts were sluggish amongst the throbbing behind his eyes and his tongue wouldn’t properly form the words he wanted to say. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and the nurse tutted sympathetically.

“Not much of a name, is it? Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure it’ll come back to you soon,” the nurse reassured him, but the boy didn’t seem too sure. “How about for now we just call you...Ezra? What do you think? Look a bit like an Ezra.”

The boy considered this decision for a long time before he slowly nodded his head. 

Ezra. He could be an Ezra. 


	2. Ezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra leaves everything behind to find everything he lost. 
> 
> Along the way, he meets a man named Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this chapter. Took me a while to figure out where I wanted to take it. 
> 
> Thank you again to [elxetera ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera) for beta-reading this for me <3

_ “The boy asked, “Why are you wandering in the woods by yourself?” and the little prince tearfully replied, “I’m lost and I can’t find my way home. I’ll never be found!” But the boy merely smiled, held out his hand, and said, “Well, I’ve found you and I will help you find your way again.” _

_ “But there was much danger on the road ahead, wasn’t there, grandmother?”  _

_ “Indeed there was, my darling, but they believed they could conquer any danger as long as they had each other.” _

* * *

Ezra’s earliest memory was of the day he’d been found at the train station. 

He remembered the absolute chaos, people running about and shouting as he sat on the dirty ground. He remembered the throbbing ache behind his eyes and the feel of warm blood running down the side of his face while the fingers of one hand twisted the ring around aimlessly on his finger. However, he couldn’t remember his name or where he’d been going or even who he’d been with. 

Had he been traveling? Was he going somewhere? Was he lost?

_ “Are you alright, laddie?”  _

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, staring off into nothing, before a man appeared before him. 

_ “Quite a bump there. You doing alright?”  _

It had been hard to find the words he’d needed to tell the man that he _ wasn’t _ alright, that he was lost, and had no idea who he even was. He had lifted his hand to the mentioned bump, winced at the sharp sting of pain, and the man waved his hands. 

_ “Don’t fuss with it now. Up you get, let’s get you looked at.” _

His name was Shadwell and whether or not that was his first or last name, Ezra still wasn’t sure, but with a guiding hand on his shoulder, he walked him to the nearest hospital. Shadwell’s wife, Tracy, was a nurse and was quick to make sure he was seen, fussing over his head injury with great care, and talking to him with a gentle voice. 

_ “Do you remember your name?”  _

_ “Az...ra.”  _

_ “Not much of a name, is it? Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure it’ll come back to you soon. How about for now we just call you...Ezra? What do you think? Look a bit like an Ezra.”  _

From that day forward, it didn’t matter who he used to be, because now he was Ezra and once he’d been released from the hospital, he spent the next ten years living with Tracy and Shadwell. 

Tracy and Shadwell had never had children of their own, perfectly content to live their lives as they were. Ezra always asked her why she’d decided to keep him around, Tracy insisted that Ezra was meant to stay with them, and that was that. She was the mother he couldn’t remember having and while Shadwell wasn’t exactly the most fatherly type, he still took the boy under his wing. 

The dreams began about a year after he’d been found. 

Sometimes they were just flashes of different places, featureless faces, and as time went on they developed sounds. Voices belonging to the faces he couldn't see clearly, but there were times when one voice stood out more than the others. A cruel voice with sinister laughter that rang in Ezra's ears long after he awoke, crying out for comfort from people he couldn't remember. 

As he grew older, the dreams became more and more frequent. Sometimes they would be more vivid; the faceless people would now have more defining features such as hair colors or certain types of clothing. 

"I think these dreams are telling me to go somewhere," Ezra told Tracy one afternoon, his fingers fidgeting with the long chain around his neck. As he’d grown, the ring he’d worn had gotten too small and Tracy’s solution had been to turn it into a sort of necklace so he could keep it close. "To find...someone? I think?" 

"We always had a feeling this day would come," she replied gently. "These dreams may be your forgotten memories trying to make themselves known."

"What do you think I should do?" 

"I think you should listen to them."

* * *

It was snowing the morning Ezra had decided to leave the place he’d called home and Tracy had been a mess of worry in the days since he’d announced his decision. 

“Are you warm enough, love?” Tracy asked, tucking the scarf more snugly around his neck. “Don’t want you to catch a chill.” 

“I’m plenty warm, Tracy, I promise,” Ezra told her with a laugh, waving her hands away. He was already wearing one of Shadwell’s old coats as well as one of his hats. Both articles of clothing were a bit large on him, nearly swallowing him completely, but he was warm and the scarf Tracy had knitted for him provided even more shelter from the cold. “Like a walking blanket.”

“Quit fussing over him, woman, let the boy breathe,” Shadwell grumbled and Tracy nodded, blinking rapidly as she finally withdrew her hands. “Got everything you need for the journey?”

“Yes, sir,” Ezra said, opening the bag hanging from his shoulder and digging through it to rattle off the different items. “Money, map, a few books to read, change of clothes, and...a pocket knife.” 

“Good lad,” Shadwell praised and Ezra couldn’t help but feel the swell of pride in his chest. Of all the years he’d lived with them, Shadwell was rare to give compliments that actually came off as sincere. “Now, you’ll take the main road until you hit the fork in the road. Take a  _ left _ and follow that road until you get to Eden.”

“Left for Eden,” Ezra repeated. “I understand.” 

“There’s a train station in Eden, a ways into the city,” Tracy told him. “You’ll buy a one way ticket to London on the earliest train and you will write to us as soon as you can to let us know you’re alright. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra confirmed and Tracy cooed at him, reaching up to cup his face between her palms. Her eyes were bright with tears, but she was showing miraculous strength at holding them back. Ezra felt his own eyes burn, but when he tried to look away, she only held his face a bit tighter. “T-Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” 

“Be safe, love,” Tracy murmured, releasing his face in favor of pulling him into her arms one last time. Their embrace lasted a long time and when they finally pulled apart, both of them had tears on their cheeks. “Remember you can  _ always  _ come home if it doesn’t work out.” 

“I know.” 

“Off you get, lad, before it starts getting dark,” Shadwell interrupted and Ezra could see his hand moved to rest on Tracy’s back, giving her comfort. “Be here all day otherwise.” 

“Right, yes, absolutely,” Ezra said, wiping at the tears on his face and replacing the sadness with a bright smile. “I’ll be on my way and write to you as soon as I can.” 

“Be sure that you do!” Tracy called. “Don’t think I won’t come to London looking for you!” 

It had been the only home and only set of parents he could remember ever having, but as much as he knew they wanted him to stay, he also knew they wanted him to find his real family too and if he never did, he was always welcome to come back. Though, leaving it all behind was still difficult.

Ezra put on a brave smile, lifted his hand to wave goodbye one last time, and set off for Eden. 

* * *

The journey to Eden wasn't terribly long, even as the snow began to build up on the pathways. Ezra went left at the sign as he'd been told to do and found himself getting excited at the sight of the city. The streets were crowded, full of life, and Ezra found himself nearly stopping several times to admire the wares at different marketplace stalls but forced himself to continue on because he had a goal to achieve. He easily followed the sign postings in order to find his way to the train station. 

The train station was a bit harder to navigate with all of the people crowded around in one place. There were people hurrying towards the platforms, families gathered and discussing travel plans, and it took several moments of wandering before Ezra finally bumped into someone who could direct him to the ticket line.

He stepped into one of the lines, counted out the three people ahead of him, and began digging into his bag for the little pouch of money that Tracy had given him that morning. She had told him it should be more than enough to get him a ticket to London and with every step forward, he only got closer to achieving his goal. 

The line moved quickly enough and finally Ezra was approaching the window, offering the man behind the counter a smile. “Ah, hello, one ticket to London, please.” 

“Exit visa,” the man on the other side of the window said gruffly. 

“Exit visa?” Ezra echoed in surprise. He didn’t know that he’d needed anything but money in an attempt to travel out of Eden. Tracy and Shadwell hadn’t mentioned anything about an exit visa! “What in the world--?”

“No exit visa? No ticket!” the man exclaimed, slamming the teller window down with such force that the entire desk rattled. 

“How unbelievably rude!” Ezra exclaimed, then crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. Now what was he going to do? “How does one even obtain an exit visa?” 

“Psst.” There was a tug at the sleeve of his coat and Ezra turned around to see an older looking woman standing behind him. She was a bit hunched over, a hood pulled up to obscure most of her face from view, and she was looking around nervously as she motioned for him to lean in closer. Ezra glanced around once himself, then bent down a bit to hear her better. “Go see Crowley. He can help.” 

“Where can I find him?” Ezra whispered back.

“The old palace,” she told him, gesturing off into a particular direction. “But you didn’t hear it from me.” 

The woman hobbled off, going to stand in another teller line, and Ezra straightened up, staring ahead into the direction she’d pointed out to him. It would be a minor detour, but it would be one step closer to making his way to London. He adjusted the scarf around his neck and straightened his shoulders.

“Time to go find this Crowley.”

* * *

Eden Palace was hard to miss, even from a good distance away. It stood taller than any other building in the city with magnificent pillars with equally magnificent golden spires on the top. Ezra had once read that the palace had been built to resemble the heavens, decorated from top to bottom in whites and golds. 

Ezra stepped onto the palace grounds through an iron archway that was still standing despite the lack of maintenance, though beginning to show signs of rust and decay. A quick look around the area revealed many empty patches of soil, old dried up fountains, and the remains of what looked to be hedges. 

“This must have been a garden when the royal family still lived here,” Ezra murmured, following the path in order to make his way closer to the palace. “It’s such a shame. I’m sure it must have been beautiful.” 

The path twisted and turned, weaving between empty flower beds and benches, and soon he found himself a bit farther from the palace than he’d meant to go, his feet having carried him to a lone tree. On the ground beneath the tree, there appeared to be multiple apple cores which only told Ezra that during the summer seasons, this was an apple tree. 

“I’m sure you were quite the popular meeting area when you had people living here,” Ezra ran his hand along the bark of the tree and slowly walked around the base of the tree, staring up at the branches that were beginning to shed their leaves due to the change of seasons. It was odd, he realized, that the longer he stood at the base of the tree, the more he felt like he should be expecting something to happen, for someone to appear. “How many secret meetings did you host, I wonder.” 

Ezra leaned back against the tree, staring at the palace, the anticipation of someone’s arrival heavy in his stomach and he just couldn’t put his finger on why. “I hope that this was a good idea,” he said quietly. “I hope I’m not making a very big mistake by asking this Crowley fellow for help, but I simply don’t have any other choice.” 

He stood there for a long time, waiting for something that didn’t appear to be coming, and finally he sighed, pushing off the tree. “I suppose I should be brave, no turning back now,” he announced, patting the bark of the tree gently. It was an apple tree,  _ only _ an apple tree, but somehow it still felt like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. “Thank you. Wish me luck.”

As he made his way towards the palace, Ezra began to notice that the building was in a great state of disrepair. Windows and doors were boarded up to prevent any intrusion, but also to cover up the broken glass and rotting wood. 

It didn’t appear that anyone had been here in a very long time.

“That woman from the station would have no reason to lead me astray…” Ezra murmured thoughtfully, touching his hand to one of the wooden planks covering one of the doorways. It was held in place with only a few rusted nails and probably wasn’t very strong. “Perhaps I can make my own entrance.” 

It took him some time to find the right placement of his hands, gaining a firm grip on the board before using all of his strength to pull. He pulled once, then twice, and stumbled back when the nails finally gave, fully ripping the board from where it was anchored. 

“There,” he said aloud, satisfied but a bit winded as he tossed the board onto the ground and wiped his hands free of grime. “One more board ought to do it.” 

Ezra spent the following minutes pulling another board from the doorway, making a big enough gap in the doorway that he could duck underneath the remaining parts of the barrier to walk inside. The halls were wide and empty, lit only by the light shining in through the windows, and completely void of any signs of life.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” he called out into the silence, listening as his voice echoed throughout the abandoned hall and reverberated back to him. “I’m looking for a Mister Crowley?” 

There was no answer, of course, save for the sound of his own voice, though Ezra supposed it was a big palace and if this Crowley character were here, he may be too far away to hear him. So he continued on, following halls or climbing stairs and continuously calling out for someone, anyone, to answer. 

As he wandered, Ezra couldn’t help but feel that there was something familiar about this place, though he was sure he had never been there before. He walked with a sense of purpose, as if his feet knew where to go without his head truly directing them, just as they had in the garden. Occasionally he would stop to admire some of the decor, hands always reaching, fingers always touching, and his mind always holding that faint spark of recognition.

“It’s like a memory from a dream…” 

His wandering finally led him to what appeared to once be a ballroom, oversized, cluttered, and plagued with endless dust. A quick glance about the room from the top of the staircase made it obvious that no one was in this room either, but just as Ezra turned to continue on his way, he paused, having come face to face with a large portrait of the royal family themselves. 

The portrait was beautifully painted and despite having been in the ruins of a palace for a little over ten years was perfectly untouched by time, showing no signs of decay. Ezra took his time studying the faces, absorbing the painted details as if it would tell him more about them. 

The king stood out to Ezra first, the hair on his head as dark as the hair on his face, causing the crown on his head to look exceptionally brighter. While his expression was more serious looking for the sake of the painting, Ezra could see a softness behind his dark eyes, a hidden warmth that Ezra was sure that his family frequently saw. At his side stood the queen, head held high with pride, blonde curls tucked up into an immaculate bun, and a small smile of amusement curling at the corner of her lips. 

His gaze drifted further down until they came to rest on the next two members of the royal family, two daughters standing side by side. They were all frills and lace, both with dark hair and tiny smiles on their faces, while beside them stood who looked to be the eldest son. He was probably the most serious looking of all the family, with dark hair like his father and his expression set into a thin line. His eyes were bright, almost violet-like in color, and Aziraphale couldn't help but feel like he had seen this boy before. 

Seen  _ all _ of them before. 

"Now  _ that's _ ridiculous," he murmured to himself. "How would you have even known them? They've been dead for ages now.”

Ezra forced his eyes from the likeness of the boy with violet eyes and finally moved along to the last child in the portrait. This child was significantly younger than the rest of the children, looking maybe seven or eight at the time it had been painted. He was the only child who resembled the queen with short blonde curls and wide blue eyes, staring ahead at the painter with a shy looking smile on his face. 

Tucked behind the child's ear was a flower and upon closer inspection he noticed it was a white peony, blooming beautifully and had perhaps been freshly cut from the garden. 

"Nobility is the meaning, isn’t it? How fitting," Ezra said quietly, his gaze still transfixed on the boy and his flower, but he had to look away when his head began to ache. He turned away from the beautiful family on the wall in favor of bringing his fingertips to his temple, hoping to chase off the headache before it fully formed. 

After a few moments, Ezra shook his head, chasing off muggy confusion that had begun to form there, and looked back to the ballroom. It was almost like moving through a fog as he descended the stairs, his hand gliding down the dust-covered rail. He imagined that there had once been magnificent parties held there with brilliant colors, dashing suits and dazzling gowns. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the music that had probably once played there. 

Ezra began to hum softly to himself, a tune he couldn’t quite place, and spread his arms in a way that one would hold their arms if they were waltzing, taking step after step to keep up with the song in his head. The people he imagined himself dancing with were very similar to the ones he’d seen in the portrait at the top of the stairs: a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, a man with dark hair and a beard to match.

He danced to music that he couldn’t remember hearing, took steps to a waltz he didn’t remember ever learning, and after much spinning, Ezra finally decided to open his eyes to face the ballroom again. He paused in mid-step, the song stuck in the back of his throat, as he stared at the vision of a boy before him. 

The boy looked to be about thirteen, maybe fourteen, with long red hair that was pulled back into a very messy bun. His smile was charming, warm, but his eyes...His eyes were obscured by shadows and Ezra was unable to see them clearly. It should have been frightening, should have chased Ezra off, or at the very least brought him back to reality, but somehow, he knew he could trust this boy. The boy bowed low at the waist, loose strands of hair falling over his shoulders before he straightened back up and offered Ezra his hand. 

Ezra stared at the boy for a long time, staring at his outstretched hand, and wondering who he was. He seemed so familiar and his presence alone made Ezra feel safe, but he couldn’t recall a name. He’d seen this boy before, in a dream he’d had, but even then he’d never been able to place him.

“I know you...don’t I?” he asked aloud. “Who are you?”

The boy said nothing, just continued to smile, his hand still reaching, and just as Ezra lifted his hand to take it--

“Oi!” A voice shouted out suddenly causing Ezra to nearly jump out of his shoes in alarm, jerking his hand back towards himself as the vision faded into nothing. He spun towards the sound of the voice just in time to see a red-haired man in black hurrying down the stairs towards him. “Who are you? You can’t be in here!”

“O-Oh! Well, I was just--!” Ezra waved his hands about as if that would offer some type of explanation, but knew by the agitated look on the man’s face as he approached that it was doing little to explain much of anything. His face was plenty expressive, even with the dark glasses that covered his eyes. “I was told to come here. To find a man named Crowley. I got a bit turned around, I’m afraid. Do you know who he is?" 

"A bit turned around," the man repeated in disbelief with a shake of his head, then he heaved a heavy sigh and dragged a hand through his hair. "What do you need with Crowley?" 

"Oh, you do know him! How wonderful!" Ezra said happily, clapping his hands together excitedly. "I need an exit visa and a very helpful woman at the station told me Crowley would be able to help me. Though I’m afraid I’m unable to tell you  _ who _ told me that.” 

"Right," the man said slowly, giving him a once over. "Look, I don't think--" 

"Oi, Crowley! Did you find out who broke in?" A second voice called out from the upper staircase and Ezra glanced upwards to see a new person leaning over the edge to look at him, a young man with messy brown hair and glasses. It was then that Ezra realized who he was talking to and spun back around to face the man in black.

“So  _ you’re _ Crowley,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Were you planning on lying to me, Mister Crowley?” 

“Me? Lie to you? A complete stranger? Of course not,” Crowley told him, motioning for Ezra to follow as they walked towards the staircase, ascending the steps in order to meet the young man waiting there. “Do you always break into abandoned places to have a dance around, Mister…?” 

“Ezra. And no, I don’t make a habit of it at all,” Crowley stood just a head taller than himself, Ezra realized. He wore all black, from the tips of his boots to the black glasses he wore on his face, but his hair was red, bright like a flame. He wasn’t dressed like a man who participated in illegal activities, but more like a man who had a sense of style. It made even Ezra feel a bit underdressed, though he couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley felt the chill of Eden’s winter at the cost of his style. “Do you think you can help me?”

“Of course. Anything to help an innocent civilian in need,” Crowley replied easily, nodding his head towards his companion. “This is my associate, Newton.”

“Newt is fine,” the younger man said dismissively and held out his hand. Ezra took it, gave it a polite shake, before releasing it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Ezra said politely. “Now, Mister Crowley, about an exit visa--”

“Well, we do offer exit visas for those unwilling to go through the regular channels,” Crowley said. “Though we do have some fees that need to be paid in full before services can be provided.” 

Ezra sighed, removing his hat from the top of his head so he could run a hand through his hair. He didn’t think that asking for help from this man would end up costing him  _ money _ , but he supposed if he wanted to make his way to London he would have to make sacrifices. “I don’t have much, but I suppose I could--” he stopped in mid-sentence when he looked back to Crowley. The other man was staring at him in a way that Ezra would describe as gobsmacked, his eyebrows raised high and his mouth slightly agape. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Crowley closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again. He seemed to be struggling to find the words he wanted to say as he stared at Ezra, looking just behind him to the painting on the wall and back again. “What...What did you say your name was again?” he asked, reaching out to grasp Newton by the arm and tug him over. “Anson?”

“Ezra,” he replied, trying not to show his irritation at the fact his name had already been forgotten. Newton and Crowley were both staring at him with mouths hanging open, Newton’s eyes wide behind his glasses, and the longer they stared, the more uncomfortable he became. 

“Last name?”

“Just Ezra,” Ezra glanced down at his hands as they twisted his hat about. He wondered if his lack of last name would conflict with obtaining his exit visa and decided to be forthcoming with the reasoning. “This is going to sound odd, but I don’t know my last name. I don’t have a lot of memories about my past.”

“Not at all?” 

“I understand that it’s strange, but I just don’t remember,” Ezra said simply. “My only real clue to finding answers is in London.”

“London?” Crowley asked next. “Why London?” 

“When I was found at the train station, I couldn’t remember anything about who I was or where my family was,” Ezra explained, then sighed. “When the nurse who treated me asked where I’d been going, all I could remember was London. I...I think my family is there.” 

“Well, we would be more than happy to get you what you need to get to London,” Newt said with a small smile in his direction. “Family should be together, shouldn’t they? We just have to sort out our fees--”

“No,” Crowley said suddenly, startling both Ezra and Newt. “No fees.” 

“N-No fees?” Newt sputtered. “But Crowley, we always charge for services.” 

Crowley ignored him completely, gesturing for Ezra to turn around. He did, though it was done with hesitance, and turned until he was face to face with the large portrait of the royal family that he’d been examining earlier. “What do you know about the Arch family, Ezra?” 

Ezra frowned, staring at the painting carefully as if it would give him some insight. “Ah...I know that they all died in an attack on the palace. Their family bloodline had ruled in Eden for nearly three-hundred years at the time of their deaths,” He said thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders, turning to look back at Crowley, surprised to see him already starting back. “Why?” 

“Did you know that not  _ all _ of them were said to have died that night? That one member of the family may still be alive?” 

Ezra scoffed. “Do you mean Prince Aziraphale?” he asked. He had been hearing the rumors around the city for years about the young prince who had by some sort of miracle avoided the massacre that had befallen the other members of his family. He’d always thought it had been some sort of tall tale created by the people of Eden to cope with the tragedy of reality. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those believers, Mister Crowley?” 

“As a matter of fact, young Newton and I here are searching for the missing prince,” Crowley told him, looking back to the painting. “To reunite him with his grandmother.” 

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Ezra said gently because despite how he didn’t believe it for a moment, he wouldn’t stand there and tell Crowley otherwise, not when he was looking at the portrait in such a way. While Ezra couldn’t see his eyes, his expression seemed to have softened and his lips had curled up into a small smile. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“Well,” Newt said when Crowley didn’t immediately respond. “You  _ do _ look a bit like him.”

“The same blue eyes,” Crowley said quietly. 

“Queen Francis’s eyes.” 

“King Raphael’s smile.” 

"I hope you two aren't implying what I think you're implying," Ezra said, a sound close to hysteria bubbling up in his chest. “That you think  _ I’m  _ Prince Aziraphale.” 

Newt and Crowley looked at one another, then shrugged their shoulders, causing Ezra to laugh, waving his hand in dismissal. “I thought you were a bit odd in the beginning, but now I think you’re both absolutely mad,” he said, turning away from the portrait with every intention of leaving. “Good day.” 

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Crowley asked, causing Ezra to stop midstep. Crowley’s voice had taken on a different tone, sounding a tad more desperate to Ezra’s ears. Why was this man so concerned with the missing prince, he wondered. “You don’t  _ know _ what happened to you.” 

“No one knows what happened to him,” Newt added. 

“You’re looking for your family in London.” 

“And his only family is  _ in _ London.” 

“You’ve never considered the possibility?” Crowley inquired, stepping around Ezra so they could look at one another face to face. “That you might have come from something more?” 

“I mean, sure, but  _ royalty? _ ” Ezra scoffed. 

“Why not?” 

Ezra frowned, turning back toward the portrait. The boy  _ did _ resemble him in a way as much as he didn't want to admit it and Crowley seemed very confident in his decision. Who was Ezra to say whether or not he was the missing prince anyway? If anything, this would just be a foot in the door to achieving his goal. “How will we know for sure?” 

"We'd take you to the one person who would know," Crowley explained. "His grandmother, Agnes."

"And if we're wrong?" 

"Then you'll already be in London and can begin your search anew."

Ezra mulled the thought over in his head for some time, weighing the benefits and any potential consequences of agreeing to Crowley’s outrageous theory. If it didn’t work out, he  _ would _ be in London and it would be easier to find his family, but if it  _ did _ work out…

”I don’t see why it isn’t worth a try,” he said, at last, turning back to look at Crowley with a smile and held out his hand. “You have yourself a deal, Mister Crowley.” 

Crowley was clearly surprised that he’d agreed, but the surprise quickly morphed into a wide smile as he reached out to take Ezra’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Newt, let’s gather our things,” he announced. “We have a train to catch.” 

* * *

_ “Did you hear that, Hastur? He thinks Aziraphale is alive.”  _

_ “Well, he’s a fool. Aziraphale is dead. All of the Arches are. Lucifer saw to that.”  _

_ “Cost him his own life in the process.” _

_ “Strange. This relic Lucifer left behind seems to have awoken.”  _

_ “Oh, come now. Am I supposed to believe this thing has woken up after all these years because some guy said Aziraphale might be alive?”  _

_ “If that thing has come back to life, Ligur, then it can only mean one thing...” _

_ “Prince Aziraphale is alive.”  _

_ “And it appears we’re being summoned.” _

* * *

_ “Crowley, are you sure about this?”  _

_ “About what?” _

_ “That Ezra is...you know. Him.” _

_ “I have a good feeling about it.” _

_ “And you’re not going to tell me what this feeling is?”  _

_ “...Not yet. Just trust me on this one.”  _

* * *

It felt like before Ezra had really even wrapped his head around the reality that he was going to London, he was boarding a train with Crowley and Newt. He’d never been on a train before, not that he could remember anyway, and the entire experience was rather thrilling. They had their own compartment, just the three of them, and the seats were nicely padded, meant for long term travel. 

Once they were settled in their seats, Crowley dug through one of his bags and pulled out a large book that he held out towards Ezra. “Here, look through this on the way,” he instructed. “Lots of pictures in there, portraits of Aziraphale. It’ll help you get more familiar with him.”

“Oh, I do love books,” Ezra said with an excited smile, taking the book from Crowley and opening it in his lap. It was some kind of scrapbook with photographs neatly arranged on each page and as Crowley said, they were all pictures of members of the royal family. “These are wonderful. How did you manage to get all of these?” 

“I’m a man of many secrets,” Crowley told him and Ezra watched him get up from his seat. He stretched his arms over his head and then made his way to the door. “I’m going to take a walk around. Find out where the dining car is.” 

“Mind how you go,” Ezra told him cheerfully, looking back down at the photographs in the book and not looking up when the compartment door slid closed. He and Newt sat in silence, occupied with their own things, and it wasn’t until Ezra had gotten halfway through the book that he began to notice a trend in several photos as the young prince got older.

“Did Aziraphale like flowers?” Ezra asked as he flipped to the next page in the book, examining the pictures more closely. “He seems to always have a flower somewhere on his person in all of the portraits and photographs he’s in after the age of ten.”

“It was said the young prince spent a majority of his time in the royal gardens,” Newt told him, pushing his glasses further up his nose but not looking up from his work. “Though it was never clearly documented why. Most historians assumed that he simply enjoyed the flowers, but others aren’t so sure.” 

“What other reason could there be?”

“Flowers have many different meanings and each flower in every portrait or photograph he was in corresponded with the event that was occurring at the time they were taken,” Newt explained. “For example, the white peony in the family portrait at the palace represented nobility.”

“Yes, I know,” Ezra replied. “But is it so strange that he had a knack for the flower language?” 

“I suppose it was thought of as strange because no one was sure where he would have learned it. It’s not as if it were taught in his lessons and none of the documented books in the royal library were written on the subject.” 

“I see,” Ezra murmured, flipping to the next page in the album. In these photographs, Aziraphale looked a bit older and the date scribbled underneath one of them was dated just ten days before the attack on the royal family. The young prince was smiling at whoever was taking the picture, a book open in his lap, and tucked in the crease of the book was a small bunch of white flowers. “What kind of flowers are these?” 

“Oh, don’t ask me,” Newt said with a chuckle, holding up his hands. “Ask Crowley when he gets back. He knows all there is to know about flowers.” 

It surprised Ezra to learn that Crowley had an abundance of knowledge about flowers and their meanings. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to take plant care very seriously, but he supposed that looks could be deceiving. He remembered his arrival at the old palace, the flowers he’d seen growing there, and wondered if Crowley had been the one growing them.

It took some time for Crowley to return from his trip to the dining car, his hands full of neatly wrapped snacks. He gave several of them to Newt, who thanked him in earnest, and once he was seated, he held out one of the remaining packages to Ezra.

"Brought you something," Crowley said and Ezra reached out to take it from him, surprised he’d been thought of at all. He carefully undid the wrapping until he could see what was inside and ended up being absolutely delighted when he saw the iced breading of a pastry. "Thought you could use a bite."

"Oh, Mister Crowley, this is wonderful," Ezra told him sincerely and Crowley's face seemed to redden with embarrassment. "Thank you."

"S'nothing."

“It smells divine,” He continued, tearing off a piece and placing it into his mouth. The sweetness exploded across his taste buds and he was unable to hold back a wiggle of delight as he chewed. “A wonderful flavor, but then again I have quite the sweet tooth.” 

“I know,” Crowley said, his voice softer than it had been before, and when Ezra looked at him in surprise, Crowley’s face only flushed a deeper shade of red as he sputtered out another response. “I-I mean, you just seem like you would enjoy the finer kinds of foods. Rich taste. That’s all.”

Newt snorted and muttered something about needing to stretch his legs before he headed out of the compartment, leaving Crowley and Ezra alone for the first time all day. Ezra continued to pick at his pastry, careful not to drop any crumbs on the book as he continued to look at the photographs. Once he had finished eating, he was reminded of the questions he had and was quick to focus his attention on Crowley again.

“Oh, Mister Crowley, I was hoping to ask you something,” Ezra said eagerly, scooting across the seat towards the other man. One of Crowley’s eyebrows rose curiously as Ezra held open the book to the page he’d been looking at and tapped the photograph. “These flowers here. Do you know what they are?” 

Something changed in Crowley’s expression when his gaze fell on the picture and if Ezra hadn’t been watching his face, he was sure he would have missed it altogether: the way his eyebrows pinched together, how his lips tugged down at the corners just a fraction, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough, pained. “They’re white heather.” 

“What do they mean?”

Crowley sighed and it came out sounding absolutely defeated. “Protection.” 

“Someone wanted to keep him safe.” Ezra mused, pulling the book back towards himself. The boy in the photograph looked so happy, completely unaware of what was about to befall him and his family in the coming weeks, and it made Ezra’s heart ache. If this were in fact himself, how could he forget something so terrible? “Someone cared about him very much.” 

“He was cherished by all who knew him.”

“He must have been such a lovely person,” Ezra said. “Did Aziraphale have many friends?”

“Not many, no,” Crowley said quietly and when Aziraphale looked towards him, he saw Crowley was instead looking out the window, watching the world pass by. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyebrows still pinched. “Some would say he only had one.”

“Just one friend?” 

“It was all he needed. One good friend.” 

“You seem to know a lot about him. Prince Aziraphale, I mean,” Ezra said carefully. “Things that aren’t in books or journals. Things that even Newton doesn’t know.”

Crowley said nothing for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that the silence that followed was nearly suffocating. His expression never changed, somehow managing to stay neutral despite how Ezra knew something wasn’t right. Somehow this conversation had upset him. “I make it my business to know. That’s all.” 

Ezra watched him, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, what he’d said that had put Crowley into such a state. Usually, Crowley was a rush of energy and conversation, but now he seemed rather melancholy. If Crowley had dedicated his life to reuniting the lost prince with his family, why would the subject upset him so? 

They sat together in silence, watching the scenery pass, and Ezra felt that if he didn’t somehow change the subject, this silence would never resolve itself. “Ah, Mister Crowley--”

“Stop calling me that.” 

“Stop calling you what? Your name?” 

“The mister part,” Crowley told him. “Mister Crowley was my father. It’s just Crowley.” 

“Was?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, still not looking in his direction, and Ezra wondered if he had only made his mood worse. “He passed a few years back. Mum too.”

“Oh dear,” Ezra said quietly and despite how he probably shouldn’t have, he found himself reaching across the small amount of space to place his hand on Crowley’s arm in a comforting gesture. The touch clearly surprised Crowley because his head immediately snapped to look at him, gaze fixed on the hand on his arm. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Crowley continued to stare at the spot on his arm, even long after Ezra withdrew his hand. “Thanks,” he said. “They were both very good people.” 

“I’d always wondered if Crowley was your first or last name,” Ezra admitted thoughtfully. “If your father was Mister Crowley, that implies it’s your last name.” 

“Spot on.”

“So?” Ezra pressed.

“So what?” 

“So, what’s your first name?” 

“I don’t use my first name, not anymore,” Crowley said simply. “No one’s called me by my first name since my parents passed and even then nobody else had since--” He stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut with a click, as if he’d been about to say something he shouldn’t. 

“Nobody else since...what, Crowley?” Or who, he wondered. 

“Nothing,” Crowley mumbled, slumping back against the window. “Forget it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating and Ezra knew that the conversation was beyond saving. It seemed like any direction he tried to take, Crowley was intent on not giving him any information about himself or his past. As Ezra couldn’t remember any of his past, he really had nothing to offer except for what he did know. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been on a train before today,” Ezra said casually, looking out the window as well. “The day I was found I was at a train station, but...I don’t think I’d gotten off of a train. I think I was trying to get on.” 

“You think?” Crowley asked, not moving from his position against the window, though his tone indicated he was curious. 

“I woke up on the ground. Everyone was...shouting and my head was just aching,” Ezra told him. “I’d fallen down and hit my head, but...all I could think of was that I needed to find someone. I’ve always felt like I was looking for someone.” 

“Can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. Forgetting everything like that,” Crowley offered sympathetically. “You’ve really never remembered anything about your past?”

Ezra shook his head. “Not...remembered  _ exactly _ , but sometimes I have dreams,” he admitted. “People I’ve never met before, voices I’ve never heard. Sometimes I get flashes when I’m awake, certain smells, sounds, all kinds of things trigger them, but nothing seems to stay.”

Crowley said nothing for a few moments while both of them stared out the window, watching the scenery pass. Ezra had just begun to think that the conversation had come to a complete end, the gentle motion of the train starting to rock him off to sleep, when Crowley finally spoke again. “I think you’ll find who you’re looking for. Memories or not,” he said quietly. “Someone must be out there looking for you too.” 

“I hope so,” Ezra sighed, closing his eyes. “I certainly hope so.”

* * *

_ “It appears they’re taking a train, my lord.  _

_ “A train, hm? Well, it would be terrible if something were to interrupt this happy little journey, wouldn’t it?” _

* * *

_ “We...may have a bit of a problem.”  _

_ “And that problem would be?”  _

_ “The ink on the travel papers. Red.”  _

_ “Red?” _

_ “Red.” _

_ “As in the opposite of blue.”  _

_ “I suggest we move to the baggage car before someone realizes we don’t belong here.” _

_ “Grab the bags. I’ll wake Ezra.” _

* * *

“Where are we going?”

“Just a few cars over.” 

“Why?” 

“Do we need a reason?” Crowley asked, opening the door to the baggage car and motioning inside. Ezra stepped inside, quickly followed by Crowley and Newt, but Ezra was far from letting this conversation go. Something was wrong. 

“There wouldn’t happen to be something wrong with our travel papers, would there, Crowley?” Ezra asked, eyebrow raised as he wrapped his arms around himself, barely suppressing a shiver.

“Of  _ course _ not,” Crowley said, smiling in a way that Ezra had begun to associate with lying. “I just thought you’d enjoy a change of scenery.” 

“Do you really think we’ll be able to avoid being found out in the baggage car?” Newt asked curiously, peeking out the window of the car to ensure that they hadn’t been followed by anyone. “The moment we arrive we’ll probably be arrested.” 

“Well, we have plenty of time to discuss it before--” 

There was a sudden bang followed by the train car lurching forward and the three of them all cried out in alarm as they were sent flying to the floor. Crowley sat up with a groan as Newt scrambled to his feet and hurried to the car door. “What in the hell was that?” 

“I don’t know,” Newt said weakly. “But there goes the rest of the train.” 

“The rest of the train?!” Ezra echoed in alarm, shakily getting to his feet, assisted by Crowley’s hand on his elbow. Newt hurried past them to the other car door to peek through the window. “Are we going to crash?” 

“Of course not,” Crowley replied soothingly, calm and collected as ever in the face of chaos. “A minor malfunction disconnected the train, but we have the end with the conductor so we’ll be just fine.”

“Ah, Crowley?” Newt called. 

“Newton?” 

“I-I believe someone has set our engine on fire.” 

“Fire?!” Ezra squeaked.

“For hell’s sake,” Crowley said under his breath and Ezra watched as he crossed the distance to Newt. They murmured to one another for a moment, so quietly that Ezra couldn’t hear, before Crowley pulled open the car door and disappeared outside. 

“Where is he going?” Ezra asked nervously, fingers going to the chain around his neck and dragging out the ring he had hidden beneath his shirt. He dragged his thumb over the imprint of the angel’s wings, trying to soothe his nerves.

“He’s going to have a word with the conductor,” Newt told him, heading back across the length of the train car to look out the other window again. “He’ll be back in a moment.”

Upon Crowley’s return, however, the situation had only escalated from there. He’d discovered that there was no one actually driving the train and announced they were officially on a runaway train to nowhere. Chaos followed as the three of them scrambled to get their car disconnected from the engine in hopes of ‘coasting to a stop’ as Crowley had explained, but just as they'd managed to accomplish the task at hand, they watched in horror as the bridge they were fast approaching burst apart and what emerged from the wreckage was a horrific looking green demon that disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

“D-Did you see that?” Newt stammered. “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who saw that?” 

“Big giant green demon creature breaking apart the bridge we’re about to fly off of? Yeah, I saw it.” Crowley replied, sounding a bit annoyed as he walked back to the other end of the train, tapping his foot against the floor.

“What do we do?” Ezra asked nervously, coming to stand beside him. “I’m afraid we’re running out of options.”

Crowley looked over the edge of the train, observed the destruction they were leaving behind before glancing behind them at the end they were fast approaching. “We’re going to have to jump.”

“Did you say jump?!” Ezra asked in alarm, already taking a step back and away from the edge of the train car. He would rather stay in place on a runaway train car than jump off of it into a snowy abyss. “Crowley, I don’t think--” 

“If we don’t jump, we are going to die. Newt, bags,” Crowley instructed and Newt began his scramble to gather their things. Ezra looked out the other end of the train car at their fast approaching demise on the broken bridge and felt a nervous lump begin to form in his throat. Before he could manage to continue his protests, Crowley was there, blocking his view with his body. “Hey, no, no, look at me.” 

Ezra couldn't breathe, but forced himself to look up at Crowley. Somehow, Crowley looked completely calm, but he had a feeling that if he could see Crowley’s eyes, he would look just as frazzled as he felt. “I-I…” 

“Everything will be  _ fine _ . You need to trust me,” Crowley insisted, placing his hands on Ezra’s shoulders and giving him a firm shake. “I told you I would get you to London to find your family and I am  _ not _ going to let this keep me from keeping that promise.” 

Ezra swallowed, staring up at Crowley with wide eyes. He wanted to refuse, to say he'd rather die on the train, but they'd already come so far and besides, Crowley promised everything would be alright. 

"Alright," Ezra whispered and Crowley released his shoulders in favor of holding out a hand for him to take. Ezra took it immediately and squeezed, trying to keep his fingers from trembling. "Remember, you promised."

"I've never broken a promise," Crowley told him seriously, Ezra's hand held in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He walked them to the edge of the train car where Newt was already waiting for them, arms full of luggage. "On the count of three."

Ezra held tight to Crowley's hand as he stared down at the snow below them. Snow was soft, it might be a bit of a rough tumble, but they should come out of it mostly uninjured. 

"One!"

No, not should _ ,  _ they _ would _ . 

"Two!"

Crowley  _ promised _ . 

"Three!"

They jumped. 

* * *

Ezra didn't remember hitting the snow or the moment Crowley's hand left his own, but he had a vague recollection of rolling down the massive hill of snow until he hit the bottom. The sound of the train car, shrieking as it plowed down the remainder of the track, gradually faded into nothing as it toppled to its end and left the world with only silence. 

As he lay there in the snow, he mentally assessed himself. He didn't appear to be hurt in any way, everything moved as it should and nothing ached, but he felt incredibly shaken by the entire ordeal. They jumped out of a  _ train _ , a  _ derailed _ train for that matter, and despite how Crowley's quick thinking had saved their lives--oh!

"Crowley?" Ezra asked aloud, lifting his head off of the snow covered ground to look around. He'd nearly forgotten about his companions and their well-being. He didn't see them immediately which made his stomach twist uncomfortably and he pushed himself up into a sitting position to get a better look. "N-Newton?  _ Crowley _ !"

“Ezra?!” Crowley's voice answered and Ezra felt relief wash over him as Crowley suddenly appeared, trudging over the tall hill of snow to get to him. " _ There _ you are! Oi, Newt, I found him!"

Crowley slid down the hill with a surprising amount of skill until he was standing at Ezra's side, kneeling down so they were eye to eye. Ezra took the opportunity to look him over, checking for any injury. His hair was a mess, sticking out at all angles, even his glasses were a bit askew, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. "You're alright," he said. "Thank goodness."

While Ezra had been looking him over, Crowley had apparently been doing the same, reaching out with gentle hands to poke and prod in search of anything off. "Scared the life out of us. We sat up and you were just gone, thought you’d been  _ buried- _ " he grumbled, then shook his head, hands still probing. “Are  _ you  _ alright? Are you hurt?” 

“No, not at all,” Ezra told him truthfully because he knew he hadn't been hurt in the tumble. Though the longer he sat on the snowy ground, the colder he felt and his teeth had begun to chatter as a response. “Just a bit cold, I think.” 

Crowley let out a breath of relief and his hands stopped their searching to rest on his forearms, fingers curling before beginning to urge Ezra up onto his feet with a squeeze. "I can fix that," he told him, releasing Ezra's arms in favor of unwinding the scarf from around his neck and placing it around Ezra's instead. "Bundle up with this for now."

“B-But you’ll freeze!” Ezra protested, fussing as Crowley began to wind the scarf around his neck. It was still warm from when it had been snug around Crowley's throat and carried a scent that Ezra could now identify as Crowley's. "I can't accept this!"

"Well, next time we jump from a moving train, make sure you make time to unpack your winter attire first," Crowley replied with a teasing smile and Ezra would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been distracted by the warmth pooling in his stomach at the sight of that smile. He settled for a half-hearted glare instead and Crowley sighed. "Nevermind me, alright? I'll be just fine."

Crowley said those words a lot: everything will be fine. Ezra wondered how he could feel so confident about saying things like that, after all they’d just jumped out of a runaway train, but Crowley was already moving onto the next step. It was a very admirable trait and Ezra wished he could be so strong.

“All warmed up?” Crowley asked after a moment and Ezra could only nod, his face buried in the warmth his scarf provided. Crowley placed a hand on the center of his back, motioning to the snow hill that he’d climbed over. “Good, now come on. Newt managed to grab our things, but we’ll need to walk to our next destination from here.”

“Are we taking another train?” 

“Absolutely  _ not _ .”

* * *

_ “How could they let him escape?!” _

_ “Perhaps some calming breaths, my lord--” _

_ “I sold my soul for this! My very existence depends on this!”  _

_ “If only we were able to take care of him for you, my lord. We would never fail you in such a way.” _

_ “Patience, patience, dear Ligur. I have an idea.”  _

_ “An idea?”  _

_ “Yes, yes. Something particularly...cruel.” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Your comments and feedback make me smile c:   
> I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Ships at Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra learns more about the Arch family.
> 
> The group decides to take a ship across the sea to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while and I apologize! Life has been a bit of a whirlwind lately!
> 
> Thank you again to my lovely beta-reader [elxetera ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elxetera/pseuds/elxetera) <3

_ “And they walked. They walked through sun, storm, and snow. They fought great evils, terrifying beasts, and powerful magics. All through these trials, they stayed at one another’s sides, keeping one another safe, and more than determined to return the lost prince to his home.”  _

_ “I could never be so brave, grandmother. The prince and his friend go through so much without an ounce of fear.”  _

_ “But you are brave, my little one. One day you will face your own trials and the bravery you have in your heart will help you overcome them.” _

* * *

After the incident on the train, they’d all agreed to swear off trains as a means of transportation for the rest of their trip. Unfortunately, with the change in plan, that meant they needed to take multiple methods of transportation to get where they needed to go. Already they’d walked for so long, abandoning the train wreckage, and filling the silence with mindless conversation but the farther they walked, the more questions Ezra had.

“Are we going to walk to London?” 

“No, we’re taking a boat to London.” 

“Ah, so we’re walking to the boat?” 

Crowley sighed. “No, Ezra, we’re taking a bus.” 

“A bus,” Ezra repeated. “How lovely. We’re never getting to London, are we?” 

“We  _ will _ get to London. It’s just a bit more complicated than it used to be,” Crowley said defensively. “Have I ever lied to you before?”

“Not on purpose.” 

“Right, so just have a little faith and we’ll be arriving in the next town in...How long would you say, Newton?”

Newt, who hadn’t said much of anything since they began walking towards their next destination, merely hummed wistfully in reply. When Ezra and Crowley turned to look at him, they saw Newt holding a photograph in his hand, gazing adoringly down at the person pictured there.

“Newt? Hello?” 

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t stop thinking about my Anathema,” Newt sighed dreamily. “Every step closer to London is a step closer to her.”

“Anathema?” Ezra asked curiously, smiling in amusement at the completely smitten look on Newt’s face. “That’s a new name. Who is Anathema? Your lady love?”

“Only the smartest, wisest, most  _ amazing  _ woman in the entire world,” Newt continued on with a happy sigh. “The queen dowager’s beautiful cousin.” 

“Her...cousin?” Ezra looked from Newt to Crowley, who was running a hand over his face and glaring at Newt. “I thought we were going to see Agnes. Why are we going to see her cousin?” 

“Well…” 

“Crowley?” 

“Well, no one can actually  _ meet _ Agnes unless they gain the approval of Anathema,” Crowley explained and Ezra could only imagine what his face looked like when he saw the look of panic on Crowley’s. “Listen, this is  _ not _ a big deal--” 

“You didn’t tell me anything about having to meet her cousin!” 

“Ezra-” 

“Crowley, I don’t even know who  _ I  _ am! How can I possibly convince someone I’ve never met that I’m someone I may not even be?” Ezra asked desperately and Crowley lifted his hands in a placating way before placing them on his arms. “Show up? Absolutely. Dress nicely? Of course. But  _ lie?” _

“Hey, hey, take a deep breath,” Crowley soothed and Ezra sucked in a deep breath, his hands trembling. “You have  _ nothing _ to worry about, alright? Getting past Anathema will be no problem.” 

“How can you be so certain?” 

“Because Newt and I are experts on the royal family and we are going to teach you everything you need to know,” Crowley assured him, that easy smile slipping into place. It was a smile that Ezra usually found comfort in, but now it did little for his nerves and Crowley seemed to be able to tell because it faded as easily as it formed. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“You always say that. But how do you  _ know _ ?"

“Because I just know,” Crowley said confidently, squeezing his arms. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? You just have to trust me.” 

It wasn't that Ezra  _ didn't  _ trust Crowley. So far, Crowley had done more than enough to prove himself as trustworthy, but Ezra was having more trouble trusting himself. He didn't want to make it all the way to London only to fail. 

"I do. Trust you, that is," Ezra admitted and he saw Crowley's eyebrows lift in surprise. If he refused to meet this Anathema, he would never find out if he really belonged with Agnes and he would be right where he was before he met Crowley. "I suppose we won't really know unless we try, right?" 

"That's the spirit!"

“Well, if we want you to be able to convince Anathema to let you see Agnes, you’re going to have to study the history of the royals,” Newt announced, opening another suitcase and pulling out a book, one that Ezra had never seen before. It was larger than the one Ezra had while they were on the train, clearly packed full of not only photographs, but a collection of other papers as well. “We’ll have to go into more detail about Aziraphale’s immediate family and work our way backwards.” 

“This book is...enormous,” Ezra said, taking the book from Newt and laying it in his lap. “How will I possibly memorize it all?”

“You have us as your teachers,” Crowley told him reassuringly, patting his shoulder. “You won’t have a problem at all.” 

Ezra looked at Crowley, shoulder warmed under his touch, and felt a small burst of confidence from the gesture of kindness. “Alright, gentlemen, start your teaching.”

“King Raphael and Queen Francis had four children at the time of their deaths,” Newt began, pointing to each individual in the photograph as he named them. “There was the eldest son, Gabriel, two daughters, Michael and Uriel, and of course, Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, yes, I know of them,” Ezra said with a chuckle, flipping through the pages of the book until he came across a small stack of loose photographs that hadn’t made it into the book. He picked up the photographs and began shuffling through them, most of them of the most recent generation of the family. “All very angelic names.” 

“Ran in the family on the king's side,” Crowley pointed out. “Starting with King Jophiel and all the way down to King Raphael.” 

“The Arch family had a very long line,” Newt explained. “So we have a  _ lot  _ to go over.”

“I can only imagine,” Ezra replied, continuing to shuffle through the photographs until one gave him pause. It was King Raphael standing next to a man that Ezra was certain was not a member of the Arch family. The man’s hair was dark, long, and his beard was even longer, but it wasn’t his hair that caught his attention: It was the eyes. There was nothing particularly strange about the man’s eyes, but they reminded him of something. “Who...Who is this? An uncle?" 

Something...unsettling. 

“Oh. Lucifer. Former advisor to King Raphael,” Newt explained. “He was said to be some kind of religious fanatic, but it was also said that he practiced dark magic, if you can believe that.” 

“Dark magic?” Ezra asked, his eyes still fixated on the picture he was holding. He simply couldn’t look away and he felt the dull ache of an oncoming headache behind his eyes. “Is there such a thing?”

“Of course there is,” Crowley chimed in and Newt rolled his eyes. 

“ _ Crowley _ thinks that Lucifer was the reason the Arch family met their end.”

"Don't start with me," Crowley warned him, in a way that told Ezra this discussion had been had many times before. “I don’t think, I  _ know.” _

_ Please, don’t let go! _

“I thought the people had an uprising,” Ezra said softly, squeezing his eyes closed. The world had begun to spin as the faceless voices echoed around in his head, but all he could see behind his closed lids was the photograph of that man.

_ I’ll find you, I promise! _

"They  _ did _ , but Crowley  _ insists _ it was magic related."

"An entire city doesn't turn on the royal family overnight. Those people were perfectly content and happy one day, tearing down the gates the next!"

"You  _ do _ realize how crazy that sounds, right?" Newt asked. "Magic is just a fairy-tale!"

_ You and your family will be dead within a fortnight!  _

He  _ knew _ those eyes…

_ I will not rest until I see the end of the entire bloodline!  _

Ezra shoved the book out of his lap with such force that he sent it flying to the floor, pictures and papers spilling out. He heard Newt curse under his breath, saw the movement out of the corner of his eye as he hurried to pick up the mess before anything was lost, but any words that were being said after that point were completely gone to him. 

All he could hear was laughter, crazed and loud, and all he could see was those eyes. 

Ezra couldn’t breathe, his heart racing in his chest. Who did those voices belong to? He was sure he’d never heard them before, but how else would he have known them? Those words? Had he been threatened? Had someone tried to hurt him? Had it been this  _ lucifer _ character? 

“Ezra?” A new voice, a familiar voice broke through the jumble of thoughts, and Ezra slowly became aware of how warm his hands had become, the slow movement of a thumb across his knuckles, centering him. “Ezra, can you hear me?” 

“C-Crowley?”

“There you are, you’re alright,” Crowley murmured, squeezing his hands gently and Ezra felt his lip tremble. How long had he been spiraling? How long had Crowley been calling his name? “Ezra, what happened?” 

“I...I-I don’t know…” Ezra admitted. He blinked, once, twice, then slowly moved his gaze to look at Crowley’s face, away from the mess he’d made. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to drop the book, but that photograph…"

“Forget the book,” he interrupted. "Which photograph?"

"That man. Lucifer," Ezra shook his head, an unsettling chill running down his spine as tears burned behind his eyes. He felt ridiculous. He’d been so terrified of a picture of a man that he’d never met that he was breaking down right in front of Crowley. "I-I’m so sorry. There's...There's just something  _ about  _ him, I…"

Crowley's frown deepened and he looked over his shoulder at Newt. "Get rid of that picture," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Don't know why we have a picture of him anyway, the bloody lunatic."

Ezra kept looking at Crowley, squeezing his hands so tightly that he was sure it must hurt, but Crowley didn't move to pull away. His hands were warm with long fingers that wrapped around Ezra's and enveloped them completely. "Did you know him?" he asked quietly. "Lucifer?" 

"I knew of him,” Crowley replied and there was something hidden beneath his tone, some kind of upset that Ezra couldn’t place. “Out of his mind.”

“Is he dead?” 

“What?”

“Please tell me that man isn’t still alive,” he said quietly. "That he isn't out there still." 

Crowley stared at him for a long time, his thumb still running soothingly across his knuckles as he nodded. “That’s what they say, yeah,” he said carefully. “After what happened to the royal family, he was never seen again.” 

Ezra nodded slowly, feeling oddly reassured about the death of a man he had never met before. “Good, that’s...good,” he said, looking down at their hands and realizing just how tightly he was squeezing Crowley’s hands. “Oh, Crowley! I must be hurting you!”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Crowley said reassuringly as Ezra released his hands, cradling them carefully to look them over for any damage. He saw the pale imprints in the shape of his own fingers there and cooed sympathetically, gently rubbing life back into them. “I’m more worried about you.”

“You're worried about...me?” Ezra asked, looking up from their hands to instead look at his face. Crowley’s expression was unreadable, but his cheeks held a tint of pink to them. This man had dropped everything to take him halfway across the country to help him find his family, saved his life on a runaway train, and even now was talking to him calmly through a panic attack after he’d nearly broken his hands. “Oh, Crowley…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but should we keep going with family history?” Newt asked, holding up the newly constructed book. “No more lunatic pictures in here, I promise.” 

“Up to you, Ezra,” Crowley told him, slowly withdrawing his hands from his hold and Ezra immediately began to mourn the loss of the warmth. “What do you think? Do you need a break?”

“No, I think I’m ready,” Ezra said after a moment, holding out his now empty hands for the book. “Who’s next in the family line?”

* * *

_ “It’s strange.”  _

_ “What’s strange?”  _

_ “Ezra talked about King Sandalphon today. Recalled details about his personal life.” _

_ “Is that so strange?”  _

_ “We never had the chance to tell him about it. He knew it without us telling him.”  _

_ “Maybe he’d read about it somewhere?”  _

_ “Yeah...maybe.” _

  
  


* * *

“I’ve never been on a boat before,” Ezra said as he stepped down the steps of the bus onto solid ground. He stared up at their newest method of transportation, a massive ship that would carry them across the remaining distance to London. “Or a ship. Or any type of machine that floats on water.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Crowley teased. 

“I am  _ not _ nervous,” Ezra said defensively. “I’m just fondly remembering the last time you took me on a method of transportation that I’d never taken before.” 

“The ship will not be anything like the train,” Newt said, coming up beside him. “The skies are clear, the seas are calm, and they say ships are one of our safer methods of transportation.” 

“Who says that?” Ezra asked suspiciously. 

“Well--”

“Everything will be  _ fine _ ,” Crowley emphasized, nudging Newt away. “No need to be nervous. Newt and I will be there the whole time, it’s only for one day, and then we’ll be in London.” 

“I don’t know if that makes me feel any better,” Ezra admitted. The closer they got to London, the more real it all became, and he still wasn’t sure if he was ready. “Though having the two of you there will help, I’m sure.” 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Crowley told him reassuringly, motioning up the gangplank. “Now, up you go, we’re setting sail soon and we need to get settled in.”

The ship itself wasn’t much to look at even once they’d boarded. The deck was nice and spacious, but the halls were narrow and the rooms were even smaller than the compartments on the train with all of the furniture set up inside. 

“Ezra, wait.” 

Ezra paused at the door and turned to face Crowley, looking at him curiously. “Crowley,” he inquired. “Is something wrong?”

“I have something for you,” Crowley told him, holding out a small, rectangular box with a neat bow wrapped around it towards him. “Something to, ah..spruce up your outfits a bit.” 

“You didn’t have to spend your money on me,” Ezra said, looking down at the deep blue box with the golden ribbon and feeling the smile curling at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He pulled at the end of the ribbon until the bow came undone, unwound it from around the box, and slowly opened the lid. Nestled in the center of the box was a neatly folded bowtie, decorated with a brilliant tartan pattern made up of creams and blues. “Oh, Crowley…it’s lovely.”

“I noticed you had a few bowties in your luggage, but they were a little worn,” Crowley offered, his face pink and seemingly looking anywhere but at Ezra. “Thought you could wear it when we visit Anathema.” 

“Oh, of course, I would love to,” Ezra said, replacing the lid on the box and smiling widely in Crowley’s direction. “Thank you. This was incredibly kind and thoughtful of you.” 

“Yeah, well, ah...try it on, see how it feels. I-If you want,” Crowley told him, gesturing behind him towards the stairs awkwardly and already beginning to take several steps backwards. “And meet us up on deck when you’re ready.” 

“Alright then,” Ezra said, watching him leave until long after he had disappeared up the stairs. His stomach was in knots, like it was filled with butterflies, and he wasn’t able to put a finger on what this feeling was. Crowley had given him a gift, something he’d thought he’d like, and it made his chest feel so warm. He looked back down at the box in his hands and took a deep breath. “Right, then.” 

* * *

It took little to no time at all for Ezra to change his clothes, easily finding an assortment of colors that went well with the tartan pattern adorning his bowtie. So easily, in fact, that it quickly became obvious to Ezra that Crowley must have been paying close attention to the clothes and colors he typically wore. The bowtie sat at the base of his throat, displayed with pride, and Ezra was unable to contain the pleased wiggle that rocked through him at the thought of showing off his latest acquired piece.

When he ascended the stairs to the deck and glanced around, he noticed that the space was empty aside from the presence of himself, Crowley, and Newt. He raised a hand in greeting when Newt waved him over and watched as Crowley turned his attention towards him, not looking away even when he stopped in front of them.

“I went through my things and found something to match,” Ezra said, showing off the tartan bow tie and his ensemble with a flourish. “What do you think?” 

Crowley said nothing, only continuing to stare, mouth half ajar until Newt elbowed him in the side to give him a jolt to reality. “Oh! Ah, you look...nice,” he stammered and Ezra was unable to keep himself smiling in delight. “Very nice. Tartan is nice on you.”

“Thank you. That's very kind of you to notice,” Ezra said with a hint of warmth to his face, then gestured across the empty deck. “What are we doing up here this evening?” 

“Waltz practice,” Newt announced with a grin. 

“Waltz practice?” Ezra echoed. “And why is that needed?” 

“Every royal knows how to waltz. What if Anathema asks?” 

“Then I’m afraid she’ll have to be disappointed,” Ezra said with a laugh. “I’ve never danced before.” 

“You were dancing the day we met.” Crowley pointed out.

“Yes, poorly. I know you're wearing sunglasses, dear, but they can't possibly obscure your vision  _ that _ much," Ezra pointed out with a laugh. "I have two left feet when it comes to dancing.”

Crowley stared at him for a long, long time. It was the way he had frequently taken to staring at him lately, Ezra noticed, like he wasn't really seeing  _ him  _ but maybe seeing someone else. The way that made Ezra wish to see the eyes hidden behind the glasses to maybe get an idea as to what he was thinking. 

"Crowley?" Newt called out, trying to draw him out of wherever he had gone. It seemed to work because Crowley took a deep breath and shook himself out before looking away from Ezra to instead look over in Newt’s direction. 

"What?"

"You alright, mate?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Crowley said dismissively. "Anyway, waltzing. Easy stuff."

" _ You've _ waltzed before?" Ezra asked in surprise. “Where did you learn to waltz?

"With an old friend. Several times. Awful dancer. Give me your hands," Crowley held up his hands and Aziraphale did the same, allowing the other man to arrange him as he saw fit: one hand on his shoulder, the other enveloped in Crowley's. "There. And I'll put my other hand on your waist like this.” 

Crowley placed his hand on the curve of Ezra’s hip, urging him to take a step closer. Ezra did so, having to tilt his head up a bit so that he could see himself in the reflection of Crowley’s glasses. He hoped he didn’t look as nervous to Crowley as he did to himself.

“So Ezra, you’re going to let Crowley lead,” Newt instructed. “As impossible as it is to believe that Crowley can waltz--” 

“Watch it.” 

“He knows what he’s doing, so you can trust him.” 

“Yes, I know,” Ezra said softly. “And I do.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley and Ezra could swear he could see the faint hint of pink on Crowley’s face. When he smiled up at him, Crowley cleared his throat, shook himself, and straightened up again. "Right, anyway, waltzing is very simple. Just follow my steps, look down if you need to.”

It took some time and a lot of feet watching before Ezra managed to grasp the steps, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face as the excitement settled in. He followed the steps, finding it easier to do so each time, until he was barely watching Crowley’s feet at all. “I can’t believe I’m actually  _ waltzing _ .” 

“Not quite,” Crowley told him. “Isn’t a waltz unless you look at your dance partner, you know.”

“You’re certainly right,” Ezra agreed, lifting his gaze completely from their feet to finally look at Crowley’s face. They continued their dance, taking each step completely in sync, their eyes completely fixed on each other. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Crowley replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “I think you’ve done this before.”

“Can’t imagine where,” he replied with a snort. “It’s not like Tracy or Mister Shadwell ever took me aside to teach me how to waltz.” 

“Well, maybe someone taught you before you met them,” Crowley suggested. “Perhaps a long forgotten friend? Or a tutor?” 

“I still think this Aziraphale theory you have is completely outrageous,” Ezra pointed out. “But I suppose you may be right. Someone must have taught me once.”

They continued to dance together, taking step after step, turn after turn, and the longer it went on, the more it felt like the world had melted away and there was only Crowley. It was the warmth of the hand on his waist, the gentle hold that guided him through the motions, and the smile that was curling up at the corner of Crowley’s lips that kept him so engaged.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy, I think,” Ezra said softly even as his feet continued to move through the motions of the dance. He didn’t want to stop dancing, didn’t want to stop being so close to Crowley, but he  _ was _ getting a bit dizzy and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dancing or if it was because of the intensity he imagined Crowley staring at him from behind his glasses. 

“Probably from all of the spinning,” Crowley replied slowly. Midway through the next rotation, they slowed to a stop, but their hands were still clasped and their eyes were still fixed on one another. “Maybe we should stop.” 

“We have stopped,” Ezra whispered. When had they gotten so close? What had they started to lean in? Ezra had never been kissed before, not once, but he certainly knew what it looked like when one was about to happen, knew for a fact that Crowley was about to kiss him, and knew that he was not going to do a thing to stop him. In fact, as they both leaned in closer, Ezra’s eyes began to close, ready to welcome whatever came of this moment between them. “Crowley, I--”

Before their lips could meet, however, a loud sneeze broke the silence and the two of them jerked apart. They both turned their gazes to Newt, who was already wiping at his nose with a handkerchief. 

"Sorry, sorry," Newt called out apologetically, waving them on, but the moment had been shattered. Ezra supposed he should feel grateful for it; what had he been thinking? He’d been about to kiss Crowley, surely he must be out of his mind. 

Ezra turned his attention back to Crowley as the red-haired man withdrew his hands and stepped away, clearing his throat. “We have a long trip ahead of us,” Crowley began. “That was good practice. I think you’re going to do just fine.”

Ezra wasn’t sure why it was so hard watching Crowley turn and walk away from him. Somehow the dynamic between them had shifted without him being completely aware of it and it had completely taken him off guard.

He was falling for Crowley.

* * *

Their cabin wasn’t really meant to house three people, but they were making it work to the best of their ability. Crowley had volunteered to take the floor, starting to arrange himself a bed made of various blankets and pillows from the linen closet as well as a dusty mattress before either Newt or Ezra could offer a word of protest. 

Ezra had been a bit weary of taking the top bunk of the provided bunk-beds, so Newt had agreed to occupy the top for the night so Ezra could sleep on the bottom. In the time it had taken Ezra to slip into their shared bathroom to change into something more comfortable for sleep, Crowley had already climbed under the covers on his mattress and fallen asleep, unbothered by the suddenly unsteady rocking of the ship. 

“Why is the ship rocking like this?” Ezra aske, keeping his voice low so as not wanting to disturb Crowley while he slept. Though if the rocking hadn’t woken him by now nothing would. “It came on so suddenly.” 

“Looks like we were due for a storm after all,” Newt told him, looking a bit pale and even a bit green in the face. He had propped himself up against the wall of their cabin, seated on the hard floor, and his eyes were tightly closed as if he were in pain. “A horrible miscalculation on my part.” 

Ezra sat down on the floor across from him, studying him with concern. “Do you get seasick?”

“Only with rough weather like this,” Newt admitted. “As long as I fall asleep, I can usually sleep through it, but it’s the falling asleep part that’s the hardest.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ezra cooed sympathetically. “I’m surprised Crowley isn’t affected by any of this.”

“Crowley could sleep through a war,” Newt said with a snort, pulling himself up to his feet by using the nightstand as a crutch. He discarded his glasses with ease and began his ascension of the small ladder at the edge of the bed to the top bunk. “I get seasick and he sleeps peacefully. It just isn’t fair.”

“Some of us were blessed with different skills,” Ezra said with an amused smile. “You were given the skill of remarkable scrapbooking and Crowley was given the ability to sleep through a war.” 

“Hilarious,” Newt said, tucking himself under the blankets with a yawn. The ship rocked to the side sharply causing most of their belongings to shift as well. Crowley’s bag tipped over and a book slipped out, sliding across the floor until it hit Ezra’s foot. “I’ll never get any sleep with all this  _ rocking _ .” 

“What’s this?” Ezra wondered aloud, picking up the book from the floor. It fit perfectly in his hold with a sense of familiarity he couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t think Crowley had an interest in books.”

“A beautiful book, isn’t it?” Newt mused. “He’s had that book as long as I’ve known him, but I’ve never seen him read it.”

“Are you sure it’s just a book?” he inquired, fingers running over the cover of the book, touching the binding that seemed to hold it closed. There was a hole in the binding, oddly shaped, as if for some kind of key. “Can you unlock it?”

“I’ve never seen him open it. I don’t think he has the key, really.” 

“I wonder what could be in here,” Ezra said thoughtfully. “Something more than a simple book, do you think?”

“What else could it be?” Newt asked curiously. 

“Oh, I don’t know, just...something else,” Aziraphale mused, tilting the book at different angles to try and get a peek at the inside. The binding was too snug, making it impossible to do so, which made it even more fascinating. What could it possibly be hiding? “Something special...Something to do with a secret. Is that possible?” 

“Anything is possible, I suppose,” Newt yawned as he pulled up the covers to his chin. Ezra gently tucked the book back into Crowley’s bag and set it back upright where it belonged before he moved to settle in his own bunk. Despite how it was now out of sight, Ezra couldn’t stop thinking about that book and what potential secrets it held tucked between its pages. “Try to get some sleep.”

“I will,” Ezra replied, closing his eyes. “Sleep well.” 

* * *

_ “There he is, my Lord, sound asleep in his bed.”  _

_ “And pleasant dreams to you, little prince. Now I will get into your mind where you can’t escape me…” _

* * *

Ezra opened his eyes and found himself in a garden he couldn’t remember arriving at, wearing clothes that weren’t ones he remembered putting on let alone owning. The sun was bright and warm against his skin, the scent of flowers so fragrant and sweet, and before he could stop to admire them, he saw movement from the corner of his eyes. 

“Hey!” He spun to face the source of the voice and was surprised to see that it was another person; a boy with red hair and his eyes were bright, almost golden in color. The boy waved at him with a cheerful grin, so cheerful in fact that Ezra couldn’t help waving back at him, delighted at the sight of him. “Come on!” 

The boy started off in a different direction and Ezra was helpless not to follow after him. It was so wonderful to feel the soft grass under his bare feet that he couldn’t bring himself to wonder when he’d removed his socks and shoes. The boy led him through the garden, past hundreds of beautiful flowers and even one particularly gorgeous apple tree, before they arrived at what looked like a cliff. When Ezra stopped to listen, he could hear the gentle roar of the ocean and the laughter of multiple people down below. 

“Come on, come on!” The boy called out again, heading to the edge of the cliff and looking over. He pointed down, looking at Ezra excitedly. “Look!” 

Ezra approached the edge of the cliff as well, standing beside the boy with red hair as he looked over the edge. Down below, there were four people already in the water; an older man with dark hair and a beard to match, a younger man with similar hair but lighter colored eyes, and two young women with identical smiles. 

“Hello up there!” the older man called. 

“Oh, hello!” Ezra called back down to him.

“Jump in!” the man called out with a wide grin and the red haired boy let out a laugh, jumping off the edge into the water below with a great splash, much to the delight of those already there as well as Ezra himself. “Come on!” 

Ezra stared down at the group in the water as they stared up at him expectantly, cheering him on, encouraging him to jump in with them. He wasn’t much of a fan of heights and despite how the others had jumped in without much issue, he still wasn’t too sure, but the people below were so warm and welcoming. How could he say no? 

“Come on, sunshine!” 

_ Ezra?!  _

Ezra took a deep breath, flexed his knees, prepared himself to jump--

_ Ezra! _

And...someone was...calling to him. 

Ezra turned around to look behind him, searching for the source of the voice calling out to him, but saw nothing. “That’s...strange,” he murmured, turning back to the gathering of people down below. They were staring back at him expectantly, their smiles still in place, and the bearded man down below beckoned to him again. 

“Come on, jump!” 

Ezra stuck his foot out over the edge of the cliff, prepared to jump, but it was the way the family below watched him, their eyes fixated on his every movement that gave him pause. Something in Ezra’s stomach twisted uneasily and he brought his foot back in, meeting eyes with the red-haired boy. 

_ Ezra, no! _

He knew him. He’d seen this same boy when he’d gone to the palace in Eden. The same red-haired boy who had smiled so gently at him, offered him his hand, was now below him with a menacing grin twisting across his features. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he murmured in confusion, the fog beginning to clear from his head. Something wasn’t right here, something was very wrong. “Why are you trying to hurt me?” 

“Jump,” The red-haired boy reached out a hand, beckoned to him, that sick grin still plastered on his face, and Ezra took a step back  _ away _ from the ledge uneasily. With that step back, the atmosphere went from joyful to something completely different. “ _ Jump _ !”

The faces down below with their frozen smiles, began to shift and transform. Their skin turned from the normal pale shade to a sickly green, their eyes yellowing and pupils becoming slits as they sprouted wings. The peaceful spring environment melted away, replaced with dead ground and a blood red sky, while the air was filled with only the sounds of the haunting laughter that Ezra had heard that day he saw that photograph of Lucifer. 

“The Arch  _ curse _ will be fulfilled!”

The demons flew around him, pulling at his arms, trying to pull him off the cliff, and Ezra swatted at them, flailing his arms and kicking his legs to chase them off. One of them seized him around the waist, holding him in a tight, vice-like hold, and pulled with such intensity that Ezra nearly lost his balance. 

“No, no! Let me go!” Ezra cried out as the demon pulled on his waist, trying to pull him over the edge. He kicked, punched, slapped, anything that he could to escape, but once the demon scooped him up into its horrifying arms, he knew it was hopeless.

_ Ezra! Ezra, stop!  _

“No, please!” 

“Ezra, wake up! It’s a dream!”

Ezra’s eyes snapped open as he jolted into a new state of awareness. Crowley was standing in front of him, his hands gripping his shoulders, and as Ezra looked around frantically, he saw that he was no longer on that terrifying cliff surrounded by demons, but instead on the deck of the ship in the near aftermath of a terrible storm. The two of them were completely soaked through, but Ezra couldn’t even begin to wonder how they’d gotten there when his thoughts were racing from the adrenaline of his nightmare.

“C-Crowley?” 

“Ezra, what in the  _ hell--” _

"Crowley, t-the Arch curse!" 

"Curse? What--"

"It’s a curse!" Ezra choked out, the tears that had been building behind his eyes finally slipping down his face and mingling with the rainwater that dripped from his hair. Crowley looked at him, his expression completely bewildered, but Ezra  _ needed _ him to understand. He curled his fingers into the fabric of Crowley’s sleep shirt and gave him a shake. "Crowley, he…!"

"Shh, what are you talking about?" Crowley asked, but Ezra couldn't explain it. The visions in the dream were already fading, but he was still incredibly frightened by what he’d seen and felt while he’d been there. “Talk to me.” 

"I keep seeing faces," Ezra sobbed, leaning forward until he could press his face against Crowley's chest. After a moment, Crowley placed his hand on the back of Ezra’s head, further smoothing down his curls in favor of cradling him close. "Just so many  _ faces…" _

"Alright, alright," Crowley said soothingly, his tone so gentle, and it only made Ezra cry harder. Ezra felt it when Crowley’s cheek came to rest on the top of his head, his arm snug around his lower back as he rocked them back and forth. "It was just a nightmare. Everything's alright now. I'm here."

It wasn’t the most ideal circumstance to be comforted in. While the storm had finally calmed, they were both still soaked through to the bone and the longer they stood there, the more the cold began to seep into his bones He burrowed further into the warmth of Crowley’s chest, taking deep breaths until he was able to come down from his hysteria, and settled right into exhaustion.

“Alright, then?” Crowley asked at last, loosening his hold and easing Ezra away from him with gentle hands on his shoulders. Ezra sniffed, nodded, and Crowley grinned. "Had to go take a walk in the middle of a storm, did you?" 

Ezra laughed shakily. "J-Just needed some air, I think,” he said, wiping at his eyes. He felt embarrassed by the night’s events, how he’d nearly managed to sleepwalk himself off the edge of the ship, and probably took years off of Crowley’s life from the stress. “Crowley, I am  _ so-- _ ” 

“Don’t. You were sleepwalking and last time I checked that was something out of your control,” Crowley said firmly, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “We’ll just have to...barricade the door or something.”

It was at that moment that Ezra realized that the sunglasses Crowley usually wore were not even there and for the first time, he was seeing Crowley’s face in its entirety. “You’re not wearing your glasses,” Ezra said quietly, staring up into those newly revealed eyes, bright almost like gold. They were...oddly familiar. “I’ve never seen you without them before.” 

“Yeah, well, you were taking a midnight stroll off the edge of a ship. Some things take less priority,” Crowley told him and Ezra couldn’t help the amused noise that left his lips. “They don’t...bother you, do they?” 

“No, of course not,” Ezra said quickly. “Is that why you wear those glasses? To hide them?” 

“It’s complicated,” he replied simply. “A story for another time, I think.” 

“But--”

“It’s the middle of the night and you must be freezing,” Crowley said suddenly, placing a warm hand on the small of his back and starting to guide him back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you back inside.” 

Somehow, Newt was still asleep when they returned, only rolling over with a grumble once the door shut behind them. Ezra heard the click of the lock which took the tension from his shoulders, chasing off the anxiety that he could somehow wander out of their cabin again in the middle of the night. 

“Get changed into something dry,” Crowley instructed, waving him off toward his suitcase. “You can use the bathroom, I’ll change in here.”

“Yes, yes,” Ezra hummed, opening his suitcase and digging through to find something warm to wear for bed. He was grateful to be back inside, sheltered from the elements, and to also have Crowley nearby to look out for him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Upon his return from the bathroom, dry and warm once again, Ezra saw that Crowley had already changed his clothes and was in the process of dragging his mattress across the room in order to lay it in front of the door exiting their cabin. A pair of golden eyes fixed their sights on him when he entered and a gentle smile spread slowly across Crowley’s face. 

“There you are,” Crowley said. “Feeling better?” 

“Much better,” Ezra agreed, motioning to the mattress. “Redecorating?” 

“Barricading,” he replied, gathering the remaining pillows and blankets from where they’d been discarded on the floor before tossing them onto the mattress. “Not sure if this sleepwalking thing is a phase or not, but I won’t have you nearly walking off the side of the ship again.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done any sleepwalking before,” Ezra explained, watching Crowley as he walked to the bunks where Newt, miraculously, continued to slumber on. Crowley began to busy himself with straightening out the pillows on Ezra’s bunk and folded down the covers neatly. “I was having the strangest dream…” 

“A dream?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, wishing he could remember the details, but found himself unable to recall any of them. “I don’t quite remember what happened in it, maybe a face or two, but I do remember being very frightened at the end of it.” 

“Dreams can be like that sometimes,” Crowley sympathized, motioning to the turned down bed. “Come on, into bed.”

“And what’s this?” he asked, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “Are you tucking me in?”

“You’ve had a rough night,” Crowley said with a shrug of his shoulders as if that explained everything. “Doing what I can.”

“You don’t need to coddle me,” he said, the words oddly familiar on his tongue as he laid back against the pillows. “I’m well into my twenties.” 

“Even people well into their twenties need a bit of coddling,” Crowley told him, his tone oddly soft as Ezra laid back on the bed. Crowley pulled the covers up, tucked them snugly around Ezra’s body, and then gave him a tight smile. “Nice and snug. No more sleepwalking, alright?” 

“Alright,” It felt so familiar, being cared for like this, and Ezra felt that it wasn’t the first time that someone had done this for him or said those exact words. He wished he could remember who it was that he was trying to remember. “What if I  _ do  _ sleepwalk again?” 

“I’ve moved my bed in front of the door,” Crowley reminded him. “If you try to leave, you’ll have to get through me which will  _ not _ happen.”

“Do you promise?” 

“I  _ promise. _ ” Crowley said firmly. “And even if you somehow manage to climb over me, I’ll bring you right back.”

_ You’re so brave. Have you considered a knighthood?  _

The words echoed around in his head, so familiar, but Ezra wasn’t sure what had triggered them. The night’s events had taken so much out of him already that he could barely wrap his head around what was awakening some long forgotten memory. 

_ Me? A knight? Far too gangly for that.  _

“It’s funny…” Ezra murmured, his gaze fixed on Crowley’s face and his so familiar eyes. As the ship rocked him back and forth, his eyelids got heavier, but he just couldn’t stop looking at him. He’d seen those eyes before. 

“What’s funny?”

"There was someone in my dream that reminded me of you." 

“That so,” The corners of Crowley's mouth pulled downwards and for a moment, he looked very troubled. "I would never lure you off a ship to your death."

"I know that, of course," he said reassuringly before letting out a yawn. "You'd never hurt me. That's why I realized something wasn't right."

"I'd never let anything happen to you. Not if I could help it."

“I feel so safe with you,” Ezra sighed and finally allowed his eyes to fall shut, the image of golden eyes still visible in his mind alongside a strikingly familiar smile. “Ever since we met. Like...Like I’ve known you for such a long time, maybe my entire life.” 

Crowley said nothing for a very long time and Ezra vaguely wondered if he had even heard him. He lay there in the silence, welcoming the comforting embrace of sleep, and just before he drifted off completely, he felt the faint brush of something against his hair and finally heard a whisper of a response.

“Sweet dreams, Ezra.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life c: 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it <3


End file.
